Yet each in habits as in soil, must differ from the other,
And each some symbol vaunts to show—the rapture of her soil,
A humble household symbol of her settlers’ honest toil.
So we along the Southern Coast, let none who hear deride,
Will sing our trusty wagon whip, with its lash of sea-cow hide,
Will sing our trusty wagon whip, with its lash of sea-cow hide.
Through many a dreary wilderness, o’er many a barren moor,
From Western Cape to fair Natal first trekked the stalwart Boer,
His was the white-capt wagon, his was the steady team,
And he cut the lash from the reeking hide of the sea-cow by the stream.