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.
* * * * *