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Wales Poetry

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

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

The Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...

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

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

The Eisteddfod,
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...

The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...

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

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

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

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

Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...

An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...

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

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

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

To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...

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

The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma

The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death

Category: The Sentimental.

My gentle child, thou dost not know
Why still on thee I am gazing so,
And trace in meditation deep
Thy features fair in silent sleep.

Thy mien, my babe, so full of grace,
Reminds me of thy father's face;
Although he rests beneath the tree,
His features all survive in thee.

Thou knowest not, my gentle child,
The deep remorse that makes me wild,
Nor why sometimes I can't bestow
A smile for smile when thine doth glow.

Thy father, babe, lies in the clay,
Lock'd in the tomb, his prison gray;
And yet methinks he still doth live,
When on thy face a glance I give.

And dost thou smile, my baby fair,
Before my face so pale with care?
What for the world and its deceit,
With myriad snares for youthful feet?

These are before thee, while the aid
Of father's counsel is deep laid;
And soon thy mother wan may find
A last home there--and thou behind.

Thy sad condition then will be
Like some lone flower upon the lea,
Without a cover from the wind,
Or winter's hail and snow unkind.

But smile thou on--in heaven above
Thy father lives, and He is love;
He knows thy lot, and well doth care
For all, and for thee will prepare.

If through His help, Jehovah good!
Thou smilest now in blissful mood;
May I not think, safe in His hand
Thou mayest travel through this land?

Smile on, my child, for thou wilt find
In Him a friend and father kind;
He'll guide the orphan on his way,
Nor ever will his trust betray.

At last in the eternal land
We all shall meet a joyous band,
Without ought danger more to part,
Or tear or sigh to heave the heart.

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