Freddie Firefly is most anxious to lighten the cares of his friends in Pleasant Valley for he is a most unselfish fellow and enjoys nothing more than seeing other people as happy as he. He has one grave fault, however, that prevents him from be... Read more of THE TALE OF FREDDIE FIREFLY at Children Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Wales Poetry

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

To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...

The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...

Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t...

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

The Dawn
Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ...

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

To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...

From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn
he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of...

The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...

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

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

Snowdon
King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...

Childe Harold
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...

My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...

An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...

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

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



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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