The Poetry of Wales Part 20

Rebuilt by His command, Jerusalem shall rise; Her temple on Moriah stand Again, and touch the skies.

Send then thy servants forth, To call the Hebrews home; From east and west, and south and north, Let all the wanderers come.

With Israel's myriads seal'd Let all the nations meet, And show the mystery fulfill'd, The family complete.

Teach me Aaron's thoughtful silence When corrected by the rod; Teach me Eli's acquiescence, Saying, "Do thy will, my G.o.d;"

Teach me Job's confiding patience, Dreading words from pride that flow, For thou, Lord, alone exaltest, And thou only layest low.

Who cometh from Edom with might, Far brighter than day at its dawn?

He routed and conquered his foes, And trampled the giants alone; His garments were dyed with their blood, His sword and his arrows stood strong, His beauty did fill the whole land, While travelling in greatness along.

He who darts the winged light'ning, Walks upon the foaming wave; Send forth arrows of conviction, Here exert thy power to save; Burst the bars of Satan's prison, s.n.a.t.c.h the firebrand from the flame, Fill the doubting with a.s.surance, Teach the dumb to sing thy name.

The clouds, O Lord, do scatter, Between me and thy face; Reveal to me the glory Of thy redeeming grace; Speak thou in words of mercy, While in distress I call; And let me taste forgiveness, Through Christ, my all-in-all.

THE FARMER'S PRAYER.

BY REV. REES PRICHARD, M.A.

TRANSLATED BY THE REV. WILLIAM EVANS.

[Any collection of Welsh poetry that does not contain a portion of the poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be incomplete.

This excellent man was born at Llandovery, in Carmarthens.h.i.+re, in the year 1579, and died there in 1644. After a collegiate course in Oxford he was inducted to the Vicarage of his native parish, and received successively afterwards the appointments of Prebendary, and Chancellor of St. David's. He composed a mult.i.tude of religious poems and pious carols, which were universally popular among his contemporaries and had great influence upon the Welsh of after-times. They were collected and published after his death under the t.i.tle of "Canwyll y Cymry," or "The Candle of the Welsh," of which about twenty editions have appeared. The "Welshman's Caudle" has for the last two hundred and fifty years found a place beside the Holy Bible in the bookshelf of almost every native of the Princ.i.p.ality, and has been consecrated by the nation. It consists of pious advice and religious exhortation suited to all conditions and circ.u.mstances of life. An English translation of the poems was published by Messrs. Longman & Co., in 1815.]

O Thou! by whom the universe was made, Mankind's support, and never failing aid, Who bid'st the earth her various products bear, Who waterest the soft'ned soil with rain, Who givest vegetation to the grain, Unto a peasant's ardent pray'r give ear!

I now intend, with care, my land to dress, And in its fertile womb to sow my grain; Which, if, O G.o.d! thou deignest not to bless, I never shall receive, or see again.

In vain it is to plant, in vain to sow, In vain to harrow well the levell'd plain, If thou wilt not command the seed to grow, And shed thy blessing on the bury'd grain.

For not a single corn will rush to birth Of all that I've entrusted to the earth, If thou dost not enjoin the blade to spring And the young shoot to full perfection bring.

I therefore beg thy blessing on my lands, O Lord! and on the labour of my hands, That I thereby, may as a Christian, live, And my support, and maintenance receive!

Open the windows of the skies, and pour Thy blessings on them in a genial show'r; My corn with earth's prolific fatness feed, And give increase to all my cover'd seed!

Let not the skies, like bra.s.s in fusion, glow, Nor the earth, with heat, as hard as iron grow, Let not our pastures and our meads of hay, For our supine neglect of Thee, decay!

But give us in good time and measure meet, A temp'rate season, and sufficient heat, Give us the former and the latter rains, Give peace and plenty to the British swains.

The locust and the cankerworm restrain, The dew that blights and tarnishes the grain, The drought, the nipping winds, the lightning's glare, Which to the growing corn pernicious are.

O, let the year be with thy goodness crown'd, Let it with all thy choicest gifts abound, Let bleating flocks each fertile valley fill, And lowing herds adorn each rising hill.

Give to the sons of men their daily bread, Give gra.s.s to the mute beasts, that crop the mead, Give wine and oil to those that till the field, And let thy heritage abundance yield.

Give us a harvest with profusion crown'd, Let ev'ry field and fold with corn abound, Let herbs each garden, fruit each orchard fill, Let rocks their honey, kine their milk distill.

Prosper our handy work thou gracious G.o.d, And further our endeavours with success: So, on our knees, shall we thy name applaud, And night and morn our benefactor bless.

THE PRAISE AND COMMENDATION OF A GOOD WOMAN.

BY REV. REES PRICHARD, M.A.

TRANSLATED BY THE REV. WILLIAM EVANS.

As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit and selfishness is full-- As a good name exceeds the best perfume, And richest balms that from the Indies come.

A virtuous, cheerful, and obliging wife Is better far than all the pomp of life, Better than houses, tenements and lands, Than pearls and precious stones, and golden sands.

She is a s.h.i.+p with costly wares well-stow'd, A pearl, with virtues infinite endow'd, A gem, beyond all value and compare: Happy the man, who has her to his share!

She is a pillar with rich gildings grac'd, And on a pedestal of silver plac'd, She is a turret of defence, to save A weak and sickly husband from the grave, She is a gorgeous crown, a glorious prize, And ev'ry grace, in her, concent'red lies!

TWENTY THIRD PSALM.

BY REV. REES PRICHARD, M.A.

TRANSLATED BY THE REV. WILLIAM EVANS.

My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to rove; In Him I'll trust, he is so good, He'll never let me want for food.

To pastures green and flow'ry meads, His happy flock he gently leads, Where water in abundance flows, And where luxuriant herbage grows.

When o'er my bounds I chance to roam, My shepherd finds and brings me home; And when I wander o'er the plain, He drives me to the fold again.

Or should I hap to lose my way, And in death's gloomy valley stray, I need not ever be dismay'd, For G.o.d himself will be my aid.

In whate'er pasture I abide, He still is present at my side; His rod, his crook, his shepherd's staff, In every path shall keep me safe.

My soul with comfort overflows, In spite of all my numerous foes; And thou with richness hast, O Lord!

And plenty crown'd my crowded board.