| 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 |