FROM "THE LAST JUDGMENT"
(After Goronwy Owen, 1728-1769, next to Dafydd ab Gwilym, the greatest poet who sang in the old Welsh metres)
| Day of Doom, at
thy glooming May Earth be but meet for thee! Day, whose hour of louring Not angels in light foresee! To Christ alone and the Father 'Tis known when thy hosts of might Swift as giants shall gather, Yet stealthy as thieves at night. Then what woe to the froward, What joy to the just and kind! When the Seraph band comes streaming Christ's gleaming banner behind; Heavenly blue shall its hue be To a myriad marvelling eyes; Save where its heart encrimsons The cross of the sacrifice! Rocks in that day's black fury Like leaves shall be whirled in the blast; Hoary-headed Eryri Prone to the plough-lands cast! Then shall be roaring and warring And ferment of sea and firth, Ocean, in turmoil upboiling, Confounding each bound of earth. The flow of the Deluge of Noah Were naught by that fell Flood's girth! Then Heaven's pure self shall offer Her multitudinous eyes, Cruel blinding to suffer, As her sun faints out of the skies; And the bright-faced Moon shall languish [88] And perish in such fierce pain As darkened and shook with anguish All Life, when the Lamb was slain. |