South Africa our mother.

She's a mother to the in-born
She's a mother to the lost sheep
Who are wondering from
The terrible dry land to fertile land
Full of green pastures.

Some cry for their arrival,
Some cry when they're chased,
Some rejoice to her fruitfulness
And some pray in agony
Begging her to be merciful
But in silence of a blue sky,
Her colorfulness stays pure
Like spring after autumn
And there rise the flag of hope.