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Wales Poetry

The Faithful Maiden
At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi...

The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ...

The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...

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 Deluge
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr...

Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...

The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...

My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...

May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...

Taliesin's Prophecy
A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,...

An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...

Glan Geirionydd
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...

My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str...

The Ewe
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...

Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...

Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...

The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...

The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v...



Short Is The Life Of Man






Category: The Religious.

Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies,
Or, like a tender flow'ret, droops and dies,
Or, like a race, it ends without delay,
Or, like a vapour, vanishes away,

Or, like a candle, in each moment wastes,
Or, like a packet under sail, it hastes,
Or, like a courier, travels very fast,
Or, like the shadow of a cloud, 'tis past.

Strong is our foe, but very weak the fort,
Our death is certain, and our time is short;
But as the hour of death's a secret still,
Let us be ready, come He when he will.





Next: Concerning The Divine Providence

Previous: Twenty Third Psalm



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