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| Once, while Jesus was journeying about, He passed near a town where a man named Jairus lived. This man was a ruler in the synagogue, and he had just one little daughter about twelve years of age. At the time that Jesus was there the little ... Read more of THE STORY OF JAIRUS'S DAUGHTER at Children Stories.ca | Informational Privacy |
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Wales PoetryThe EweSo artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... The Farmer's Prayer poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ... The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... To The Daisy Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,... The Immovable Covenant the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ... Song Of The Foster-son, Love I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... The Castles Of Wales Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of... That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks, And reckless min... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... Under The Orchard Tree Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid... The Swan Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like... Roderic's Lament Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... |
Farewell To WalesCategory: The Patriotic. The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; and a blessing be with thee, Greenland; In thy halls, thy hearths, in thy pure mountain air, On the strings of the harp and the minstrel's free hand; From the love of my soul with my tears it is shed, Whilst I leave thee, O land of my home and my dead. I bless thee; yet not for the beauty which dwells In the heart of thy hills, in the waves of thy shore; And not for the memory set deep in thy dells Of the bard and the warrior, the mighty of yore; And not for thy songs of those proud ages fled, Greenland, Poetland of my home and my dead. I bless thee for all the true bosoms that beat, Where e'er a low hamlet smiles, under thy skies, For thy peasant hearths burping the stranger to greet, For the soul that looks forth from thy children's bright eyes, May the blessing, like sunshine, around thee be spread, Greenland of my childhood, my home and my dead. Next: The Castles Of Wales Previous: The Monarchy Of Britain
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