|A Frenchman once remarked: "The table is the only place where one is not bored for the first hour." Every rose has its thorn There's fuzz on all the peaches. There never was a dinner yet Without some lengthy speeches. ... Read more of AFTER DINNER SPEECHES at Free Jokes.ca|| Informational|
|Home - Collection of Stories - Famous Stories - Short Stories - Wales Poetry - Yiddish Tales|
Wales PoetryThe Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
All my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m...
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 ...
Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...
The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...
The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...
An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...
The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...
The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...
To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...
The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...
Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...
Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ...
The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...
Ode To Cambria
Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and...
The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...
The Immovable Covenant
Category: The Sublime.
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist Church, and was
possessed of extensive learning, and a highly critical taste. After
officiating as Minister at a Church in Swansea and other places, he
finally settled at Builth, where he died at an early age.]
Ye cloud piercing mountains so mighty,
Whose age is the age of the sky;
No cold blasts of winter affright ye,
Nor heats of the summer defy:
You've witness'd the world's generations
Succeeding like waves on the sea;
The deluge you saw, when doom'd nations,
In vain to your summits would flee.
You challenge the pyramids lasting,
That rolling milleniums survive;
Fierce whirlwinds, and thunderbolts blasting,
And oceans with tempests alive!
But lo! there's a day fast approaching,
Which shall your foundations reveal,--
The powers of heaven will be shaking,
And earth like a drunkard shall reel!
Proud Idris, and Snowdon so tow'ring,
Ye now will be skipping like lambs;
The Alps will, by force overpow'ring
Propell'd be disporting like rams!
The breath of Jehovah will hurl you--
Aloft in the air you shall leap:
Your crash, like his thunder's who'll whirl you,
Shall blend with the roars of the deep.
All ties, and strong-holds, with their powers,
Shall, water-like, melting be found;
Earth's palaces, temples, and towers,
Shall then be all dash'd to the ground:
But were this great globe plunged for ever
In seas of oblivion, or prove
Untrue to its orbit, yet never,
My God, will thy covenant move!
The skies, as if kindling with ire and
Resentment, will pour on this ball
A deluge of sulphurous fire, and
Consume its doom'd elements all!
But though heaven and earth will be passing
Away on time's Saturday eve;
The covenant-bonds, notwithstanding,
Are steadfast to all that believe!
I see--but no longer deriding--
The sinner with gloom on his brow:
He cries to the mountains to hide him,
But nothing can shelter him now!
He raves--all but demons reject him!
But not so the Christian so pure;
The covenant-arms will protect him,
In these he'll be ever secure!
Thus fixed, while his triumphs unfolding,
Enrapture his bosom serene:
In sackcloth the heavens he's beholding,
And nature dissolving is seen;
He mounts to the summits of glory,
And joins with the harpers above,
Whose theme is sweet Calvary's story--
The issue of covenant love.
Methinks, after ages unnumber'd
Have roll'd in eternity's flight,
I see him, by myriads surrounded,
Enrob'd in the garments of light;
And shouting o'er this world's cold ashes--
"Thy covenant, my God, still remains:
No tittle or jot away passes,
And thus it my glory sustains."
He asks, as around him he glances,
"Ye sov'reigns and princes so gay,
Where are your engagements and pledges?
Where are they--where are they to-day?
Where are all the covenants sacred
That mortal with mortals e'er made?"
A silent voice whispers,--"Departed--
'Tis long since their records did fade!"
I hear him again, while he's winging
His flight through the realms of the sky,
Th' immovable covenant singing
With voice so melodious and high
That all the bright mountains celestial
Are dancing, as thrill'd with delight:
Too lofty for visions terrestial--
He vanishes now from my sight.
Blest Saviour, my rock, and my refuge,
I fain to thy bosom would flee;
Of sorrows an infinite deluge
On Calv'ry thou barest for me:
Thou fountain of love everlasting--
High home of the purpose to save:
Myself on the covenant casting,
I triumph o'er death and the grave.
Next: An Ode To The Thunder
Previous: The Day Of Judgment