The year has passed and left us,

all signs point to its passage;

the trials of ushering the new year in

are with us.

The year has passed and with it

news of people on earth,

their conduct, their cruelties,

all recorded.

Hanewu, 1920,

year of frustration!

We sought our freedom:

you sent down gunfire,

Pow! and Pow! again.

Hanewu, 1920,

greedy sliver like dusk,

you clubbed to his knees

Doctor Rubusana,

bull with an antelope's guile.

Mercy, son of Rubusana,

who gulped rejection like water!

Be gone, 1920,

with all your events.

Awu! So mercy, then, 1921!

Beat to a pulp

the old year's

old deeds.

Come with your year

right to the end,

let what you've brought

well up in springs.

Mercy, Father!

The Vale of Tears:—

United in grief

the people assembled

in the square

at the Water Gate.

Nehemiah 8: 1

If you would return to Jehovah

with all your heart,

cast out from among you

all foreign gods.

I Samuel 7: 3

Halahoyi, Africans!

something stinks

like the river snake

fouling the air.

The vale of tears

is the vale of unity

in which all assemble,

even those from the heights.

Workers’ complaints

must be brought to the bosses:

there's nowhere else

to tend their wounds.

We must stand as one

to face the bosses,

lions that stalk us

with bloody eyes.

God won't deign

to grant us help

unless we strive

to help ourselves.

So dance, son of Thwebu,

we're waiting

to hear your words

in the clear light of day.

Speak out!

Set wastrels trembling

so our chiefs

lick the cream.

The vale of tears—

Agree with me, men!—

shields your heads

when skies are rumbling.

Yes, we agree!

It's the vale of unity.

Let's sway together

in rhythmic dance.

It's a travellers’ haven—

Agree with me, women!—

a shelter for girls

who've left their men.

Ho, Mrs M. Maxeke,

tall, bitter tree,

Deborah's sister,

give us advice

on harvesting crops.