| | PAGE |
| At times when under cover I ’ave said, | [86] |
| Files, | [17] |
| God of our fathers, known of old, | [121] |
| ‘Here is nothing new nor aught unproven’ say the Trumpets, | [1] |
| Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run, | [53] |
| I do not love my Empire’s foes, | [104] |
| I wish my mother could see me now, with a fence-post under my arm, | [64] |
| Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, | [13] |
| Lived a woman wonderful, | [49] |
| Me that ’ave been what I’ve been, | [59] |
| No doubt but ye are the People—your throne is above the King’s, | [31] |
| Not in the camp his victory lies, | [23] |
| Only two African kopjes, | [82] |
| Out o’ the wilderness, dusty an’ dry, | [72] |
| Peace is declared, an’ I return, | [117] |
| Smells are surer than sounds or sights, | [95] |
| Sudden the desert changes, | [8] |
| The bachelor ’e fights for one, | [91] |
| The General ’eard the firin’ on the flank, | [98] |
| There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may, | [113] |
| There is a world outside the one you know, | [110] |
| The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay, | [40] |
| We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa! | [88] |
| We’ve rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations come to hand, | [77] |
| When by the labour of my ’ands, | [102] |
| Who recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order, | [26] |