Welsh Journals

Search over 450 titles and 1.2 million pages

Wales LIES the dust of saints of ages And of martyrs at thy breast, Thou didst give them life and breathing And hast taken them to rest. Hither angels used to traffic, On thy ways their prints are clear, And the Holy Spirit nested As a dove in woodlands here. Poets heard in storm and tempest The grieving voice, the Victim's cry, And amid thy shadowed forests Did the Cross descry. His resurrection was thy springtime, Thy summer His salvation green, And in winter on thy mountains Grace hath tabernacled been. Providence distilled the dew On thy cornfields and thy seeds, His glory was upon thy gear And the bridles of thy steeds. Thy boats and sailing vessels roving Plied the pathways of the sea, Bearing in their holds up-laden Merchandise of Calvary. God had thee for handmaid taken, Bade thee testify, And His covenants engraven On thy portals lie. Choired thy saints in throng excelling, Loved of thee, love they bring; Thou dost gather them and take them As a hen beneath her wing. GWENALLT JONES. Translated by R. O. F. WYNNE.