If You Wrote A Novel In South

For It Is The Dawn That Has Come, As It Has Come For A Thousand Centuries, Never Failing.

What Broke In A Man When He Could Bring Himself To Kill Another? What Broke When He Could Bring Himself To Thrust Down The Knife Into The Warm Flesh, To Bring Down The Axe On The Living Head, To Cleave Down Between The Seeing Eyes, To Shoot The Gun That Would Drive Death Into The Beating Heart?

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.

There Is A Lovely Road That Runs From Ixopo Into The Hills.

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