REAL WARRIORS, REAL BROTHERHOOD, THE RED AND BLACK
WE WANT THE REAL DEAL, THE BROTHERS WHO KNOW, THE BROTHERS WHO RIDE FOR EACH OTHER SINCE 1974 THE VNVLVMC ONLY TAKES THE BEST
NOT of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers
Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the years,—
Rather the scorned—the rejected—the men hemmed in with the spears;
The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it dies,
Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries.
The men with the broken heads and the blood running into their eyes.
Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the throne,
Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are blown,
But the lads who carried the koppie and cannot be known.
Not the ruler for me, but the ranker, the tramp of the "road,
The slave with the sack on his shoulders pricked on with the goad,
The man with too weighty a burden, too weary a load.
The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the clout,
The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tune to the shout,
The drowsy man at the wheel and the tired look-out.
Others may sing of the wine and the wealth and the mirth,
The portly presence of potentates goodly in girth;—
Mine be the dirt and the dross, the dust and scum of the earth!
Theirs be the music, the colour, the glory, the gold;
Mine be a handful of ashes, a mouthful of mould.
Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain and the cold—
Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be told.
WHERE DO WE GET SUCH MEN?
I am Pallas Athene, and I know the thoughts of all men's hearts and discern their manhood or their baseness.
From the souls of clay I turn away, and they are blessed but not by me.
They fatten at ease like sheep in the pasture and eat what they did not sow like oxen in the stall.
They grow and spread like the gourd along the ground, but like the gourd they give no shade to the traveler.
When they are ripe death gathers them and they go down unloved into Hell and their name vanishes out of this land.
But to the souls of fire I give more fire, and to those who are manful I give a might more than man.
These are the heroes, the sons of the immortals who are blessed, but not like the souls of clay, for I drive them forth by strange paths that they may fight the titans and the monsters and the enemies of Gods and men...........
Tell me now, Persus, which of these two sorts of men seem to you more blessed?