The Poetry of Wales

by Unknown

FROM THE HYMNS OF THE REV. WILLIAM WILLIAMS, PANTYCELYN.

[The Reverend William Williams, styled of “Pantycelyn,” a tenement which he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of Llanfair-on-the-hill, in Carmarthenshire, in the year 1717. He was educated for the ministry, and appointed to the Curacy of Llanwrtyd and Abergwesyn, in Breconshire, in 1740. After serving for about three years he became a convert to the Welsh Puritanism of the period, introduced by the eloquence and piety of the Revs. Daniel Rowlands of Llangeitho, and Howel Harris of Trevecca, both theretofore eminent ministers of the Established Church, with whom he became a successful co-operator, not only as an eloquent preacher, but especially as the most celebrated Hymnist of Wales. This eminent man died in 1791, and his hymns were published by his son in 1811, and Mr. Mackenzie, of Glasgow, issued a superb edition of his works with biography in 1868.]

Hasten, Israel! from the desert
After tarrying there so long,
Milk and honey, wine and welcome
Wait you ’mong the ransom’d throng;
Wear your arms, advance to warfare,
Onward go, and bravely fight,
Fair the land, and there shall lead you
Cloud by day and flame by night.

Babel’s waters are so bitter,
There is nought but weeping still,
Zion’s harps, so sweet and tuneful,
Do my heart with rapture fill:
Bring thou us a joyful gathering
From the dread captivity,
And until on Zion’s mountain
Let there be no rest for me.

In this land I am a stranger,
Yonder is my native home,
Far beyond the stormy billows,
Where the flowers of Canaan bloom:
Tempests wild from sore temptation
Did my vessel long detain,
Speed, ye gentle southern breezes,
Aid me soon to cross the main.

* * * * *

Jesus—thou my only pleasure,
Naught like thee this world contains;
In thy name is greater treasure,
Than in India’s golden plains;
And this treasure,
Jesus’ love for me obtains.

Jesus, lovely is the aspect
Of thy gracious face divine;
Eye hath seen no fairer object,
On this beauteous world of thine,
Rose of Sharon,
Heaven’s glories in thee shine.

Jesus, shield from sin’s dark errors,
Name which every foe o’ercomes;
Death, the dreaded king of terrors,
Death itself to thee succumbs.
Thou hast conquered,
Joyful praise my soul becomes.

* * * * *

Fix, O Lord, a tent in Goshen,
Thither come and there abide,
Bow thyself from light celestial,
And with sinful man reside.
Dwell in Zion, there continue,
Where the holy tribes ascend;
Do not e’er desert thy people,
Till the world in flames shall end.

I am through the lone night waiting,
For the dawning of the day;
When my prison door is opened,
When my fetters fall away;
O come quickly,
Happy day of jubilee.

Let me still be meekly wakeful,
Trusting that to all my woes,
By thy mighty hand, Redeemer,
Shall be given a speedy close;
Keep me watching,
For the joyful jubilee.

* * * * *

O’er the gloomy hills of darkness,
Look, my soul, be still and gaze;
All the promises do travail,
With a glorious day of grace;
Blessed jubilee,
May thy morning dawn apace.

Let the Indian, let the Negro,
Let the rude Barbarian see
That divine and Godlike conquest,
Once obtained on Calvary;
Let the gospel,
Loud resound from pole to pole.

* * * * *

Kingdoms wide, that sit in darkness,
Grant them, Lord, the saving light;
And from eastern coast to western,
May the morning chase the night;
Pouring radiance,
As if one day sevenfold bright.

Blessed Saviour, spread thy gospel,
Ride and conquer, never cease;
May thy wide, thy vast dominions,
Multiply and still increase;
Sway thy sceptre,
Saviour, all the world around.

* * * * *

O’er the earth, in every nation,
Reign, Jehovah, in each place;
Take all kingdoms in possession,
Heathen darkness thence displace;
Fill each people,
Sun of Righteousness, with grace.

Oh! ye heralds of salvation,
Jesus’ mercy far proclaim;
Bear, ye seas, the sacred mission,
Till the pagan bless his name;
Let the gospel
Fly on wings of heavenly flame.

Let all those in deserts dwelling,
All on hills—in dales around,
Those who live ’midst oceans swelling,
Jesus’ glorious praises sound;
Till the echo
Of his name the world surround.

* * * * *

Ride in triumph, holy Saviour,
Go and conquer o’er the land;
Earth and hell, with all their forces,
Now before thee cannot stand;
At the radiance of thy glory,
Every foe must flee away;
All creation thrills with terror
Under thine eternal sway.

Aid me, Lord, always to tarry
In my Father’s courts below;
Live in light divine and glorious,
Without darkness, without woe;
Live without the sun’s departure,
Live without a cloud or pain;
Live on Jesus’ love unconquer’d,
Who on Calvary was slain.

Let me view the great atonement,
And the kingdom that is mine,
Which thy blood hath purchased for me,
Sealed also as divine;
Let me daily strive to find it,
Let this be my chief employ;
On my way I ask no favour
But thy presence to enjoy.

* * * * *

Great Redeemer, Friend of sinners,
Thou hast glorious power to save,
Grant me light and still conduct me
Over each tempestuous wave;
May my soul with sacred transport
View the dawn while yet afar,
And until the sun arises,
Lead me by the morning star.

* * * * *

O what madness, O what folly,
That my thoughts should go astray,
After toys and empty pleasures,
Pleasures only for a day;
This vain world with all its treasures,
Very soon will be no more,
There’s no object worth admiring,
But the God whom I adore.

* * * * *

I look beyond the distant hills,
My Saviour dear to see;

O come, Beloved, ere the dusk,
My sun doth set on me.

Methinks that were my feet released
From these afflicting chains,
I would but sing of Calvary,
Nor think of all my pains.

I long for thy divine abode,
Where sinless myriads dwell,
Who ceaseless sing thy boundless love,
And all thy glories tell.

* * * * *

My soul’s delight I will proclaim,
O! Jesus ’tis thy face;
Each letter of thy holy name,
Is full of life and grace.

Beneath thy wing, thou Saviour meek,
I would for ever be;
No other pleasure vainly seek,
My God, than loving thee.

Thy strength alone supports each day
My footsteps, lest I fall;
And thy salvation is my stay,
My joy, my song, my all.

Than combs of honey sweeter is
Thy favour to enjoy;
In life, in death, no joy than this
Will last without alloy.

* * * * *

Angelic throngs unnumbered,
As dawn’s bright drops of dew,
Present their crowns before Him
With praises ever new;

But saints and angels blending
Their songs above the sun,
Can ne’er express the glories
Of God with man made one.

* * * * *

Direct unto my God,
With speed, my cry ascend;
Present to Him this urgent plea:—
“In mercy, Lord, attend!
Fulfil thy gracious word,
To bring me to thy rest;
In Salem soon my place prepare,
And make me ever blest!”

Down in a vale of tears,
Where dwelt my Christ I mourn,
And in the conflict with my foes,
My tender heart is torn;
O heal each bleeding wound,
With thy life-giving tree;
In Salem, Lord, above the strife,
A place prepare for me!”

TRANSLATIONS FROM MISCELLANEOUS WELSH HYMNS.

Had I but the wings of a dove,
To regions afar I’d repair,
To Nebo’s high summit would rove,
And look on a country more fair;
My eyes gazing over the flood,
I’d spend the remainder of life
Beholding the Saviour so good,
Who for sinners expired in strife.

* * * * *

Once I steered through the billows,
On a dark, relentless night,
Stripped of sail—the surge so heinous,
And no refuge within sight.
Strength and skill alike were ended,
Nought, but sinking in the tide,
While amid the gloom appeared
Bethlehem’s star to be my guide.

* * * * *

Of all the ancient race,
Not one be left behind,
But each, impell’d by secret grace,
His way to Canaan find.

Rebuilt by His command,
Jerusalem shall rise;
Her temple on Moriah stand
Again, and touch the skies.

Send then thy servants forth,
To call the Hebrews home;
From east and west, and south and north,
Let all the wanderers come.

With Israel’s myriads seal’d
Let all the nations meet,
And show the mystery fulfill’d,
The family complete.

* * * * *

Teach me Aaron’s thoughtful silence
When corrected by the rod;
Teach me Eli’s acquiescence,
Saying, “Do thy will, my God;”
Teach me Job’s confiding patience,
Dreading words from pride that flow,
For thou, Lord, alone exaltest,
And thou only layest low.

* * * * *

Who cometh from Edom with might,
Far brighter than day at its dawn?
He routed and conquered his foes,
And trampled the giants alone;
His garments were dyed with their blood,
His sword and his arrows stood strong,
His beauty did fill the whole land,
While travelling in greatness along.

* * * * *

He who darts the winged light’ning,
Walks upon the foaming wave;
Send forth arrows of conviction,
Here exert thy power to save;
Burst the bars of Satan’s prison,
Snatch the firebrand from the flame,
Fill the doubting with assurance,
Teach the dumb to sing thy name.

* * * * *

The clouds, O Lord, do scatter,
Between me and thy face;
Reveal to me the glory
Of thy redeeming grace;
Speak thou in words of mercy,
While in distress I call;
And let me taste forgiveness,
Through Christ, my all-in-all.

THE FARMER’S PRAYER.

By Rev. Rees Prichard, M.A.

Translated by the Rev. William Evans.

[Any collection of Welsh poetry that does not contain a portion of the poems of the “Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery” would be incomplete. This excellent man was born at Llandovery, in Carmarthenshire, in the year 1579, and died there in 1644. After a collegiate course in Oxford he was inducted to the Vicarage of his native parish, and received successively afterwards the appointments of Prebendary, and Chancellor of St. David’s. He composed a multitude of religious poems and pious carols, which were universally popular among his contemporaries and had great influence upon the Welsh of after-times. They were collected and published after his death under the title of “Canwyll y Cymry,” or “The Candle of the Welsh,” of which about twenty editions have appeared. The “Welshman’s Caudle” has for the last two hundred and fifty years found a place beside the Holy Bible in the bookshelf of almost every native of the Principality, and has been consecrated by the nation. It consists of pious advice and religious exhortation suited to all conditions and circumstances of life. An English translation of the poems was published by Messrs. Longman & Co., in 1815.]

O Thou! by whom the universe was made,
Mankind’s support, and never failing aid,
Who bid’st the earth her various products bear,
Who waterest the soft’ned soil with rain,
Who givest vegetation to the grain,
Unto a peasant’s ardent pray’r give ear!

I now intend, with care, my land to dress,
And in its fertile womb to sow my grain;
Which, if, O God! thou deignest not to bless,
I never shall receive, or see again.

In vain it is to plant, in vain to sow,
In vain to harrow well the levell’d plain,
If thou wilt not command the seed to grow,
And shed thy blessing on the bury’d grain.

For not a single corn will rush to birth
Of all that I’ve entrusted to the earth,
If thou dost not enjoin the blade to spring
And the young shoot to full perfection bring.

I therefore beg thy blessing on my lands,
O Lord! and on the labour of my hands,
That I thereby, may as a Christian, live,
And my support, and maintenance receive!

Open the windows of the skies, and pour
Thy blessings on them in a genial show’r;
My corn with earth’s prolific fatness feed,
And give increase to all my cover’d seed!

Let not the skies, like brass in fusion, glow,
Nor the earth, with heat, as hard as iron grow,
Let not our pastures and our meads of hay,
For our supine neglect of Thee, decay!

But give us in good time and measure meet,
A temp’rate season, and sufficient heat,
Give us the former and the latter rains,
Give peace and plenty to the British swains.

The locust and the cankerworm restrain,
The dew that blights and tarnishes the grain,
The drought, the nipping winds, the lightning’s glare,
Which to the growing corn pernicious are.

O, let the year be with thy goodness crown’d,
Let it with all thy choicest gifts abound,
Let bleating flocks each fertile valley fill,
And lowing herds adorn each rising hill.

Give to the sons of men their daily bread,
Give grass to the mute beasts, that crop the mead,
Give wine and oil to those that till the field,
And let thy heritage abundance yield.

Give us a harvest with profusion crown’d,
Let ev’ry field and fold with corn abound,
Let herbs each garden, fruit each orchard fill,
Let rocks their honey, kine their milk distill.

Prosper our handy work thou gracious God,
And further our endeavours with success:
So, on our knees, shall we thy name applaud,
And night and morn our benefactor bless.