There Is Only One Way

I Am A Weak And Sinful Man, But God Put His Hands On Me, That Is All.

When I Go Up There, Which Is My Intention, The Big Judge Will Say To Me, Where Are Your Wounds? And If I Say I Haven’t Any, He Will Say, Was There Nothing To Fight For? I Couldn’t Face That Question. (ah, But Your Land Is Beautiful)

There Is A Lovely Road That Runs From Ixopo Into The Hills. These Hills Are Grass-covered And Rolling, And They Are Lovely Beyond Any Singing Of It.

We Do Not Work For Men. We Work For The Land And The People. We Do Not Even Work For Money.

There Are Voices Crying What Must Be Done, A Hundred, A Thousand Voices. But What Do They Help If One Seeks For Counsel, For One Cries This, And One Cries That, And Another Cries Something That Is Neither This Nor That.