I am a weak and sinful man, but God put His hands on me, that is all.
And were your back as broad as heaven, and your purse full of gold, and did your compassion reach from here to hell itself, there is nothing you can do.
One day in Johannesburg, and already the tribe was being rebuilt, the house and soul being restored.
There is a man sleeping in the grass. And over him is gathering the greatest storm of all his days. Such lightening and thunder will come there has never been seen before, bringing death and destruction. People hurry home past him, to places safe from danger. And whether they do not see him there in the grass, or whether they fear to halt even a moment, but they do not wake him, they let him be.
All roads lead to Johannesburg.
Forgive us all, for we all have trespasses.
There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills.
The Afrikaner has nowhere to go, and thats why he would rather destroy himself than capitulate.
Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal.
And money is not something to go mad about ... Money is for food and clothes and comfort, and a visit to the pictures. Money is to make happy the lives of children.
Nosecond Johannesburg isneededuponthe earth.One is enough.
For who can stop the heart from breaking?
If you wrote a novel in South Africa which didn't concern the central issues, it wouldn't be worth publishing.
For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.
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