Would that my poor head were waters
That I might not cease to weep
Over Sion’s sons and daughters,
Wrapt in waywardness and sleep!
Foxes, the vineyard thieving,
Are destroying all the bloom,
And the bright Sheckinah, leaving
Sion, leaves her to her doom.
Lord, remember how Thou swearedst
In Thy covenant of old
To redeem, and how Thou carest
For the frailest in Thy fold.
Shed within us some reflection
Of Thyself, The Living Word,
Thou That art The Resurrection
And The Everlasting Lord!
HYMN XXIII.
“That ye be renewed in the Spirit of your mind” Ephes. iv. 23.
“A raid i’m sêl, oedd farwor tanllyd”
Is the zeal, which, as a burning
Coal within me, made me bold
In old days departed, turning
Into doubt, and growing cold?
Pardon, Lord, my base defection,
Fill my bosom with Thy love,
And revive my lost affection
For the things of heaven above.
HYMN XXIV.
“With joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of Salvation.” Isa. xii. 3.
“Y mae dyfroedd iachawdwriaeth,”
Still salubrious as ever,
Still to thirsting sinners free,
Flow the waters of salvation
Opened first on Calvary.
Come, ye sons of fallen Adam,
Wounded by the serpent’s sting,
Come, and in these wondrous waters
Find relief from suffering.