Just a perch of churchyard clay All the soil he now possesses; Heavily its burthen grey On his pulseless bosom presses.
(After Huw Morus, 1622-1709, a Welsh Cavalier poet)
Lord, hear my confession of life-long transgression! Weak-willed and too filled with Earth's follies am I To reach by the strait way of faith to Heaven's gateway, If Thou light not thither my late way.
From Duty's hard high road by Beauty's soft by-road To Satan's, not Thy road, I wandered away. Thou hast seen, Father tender, Thou seest what a slender Return for Thy Talents I render.
Thy pure Eyes pierced through me and probed me and knew me, Not flawless but lawless, when put to the proof. In ease or in cumber, day-doings or slumber, What ills of mine wouldst Thou not number!
From Thy Holy Hand's Healing, contrition annealing And Faith's oil of healing grant, Lord, I beseech; These only can cure me and fresh life assure me, These only Thy Peace can procure me!
To the blood freely flowing of The Lamb life-bestowing This wonder is owing that washes out sin; Thy Love to us lent Him, Thy Love to death sent Him, That man through Thy Love should repent him.
Lord God, Thy Protection, Lord Christ, Thy Affection, Holy Ghost, Thy Direction so govern my heart, That all promptings other than Love's it may smother, As a babe is subdued to its mother.
For that treasure of treasures that all price outmeasures, Pure Faith, on whose pleasures life-giving we feed-- Let Kings in their places, let all the earth's races Sing aloud in a crowd of glad faces.
Yea! all mouths shall bless Thee, all hearts shall confess Thee The bounteous Fountain of mercy and love; Each gift we inherit of pure, perfect merit, Dear God, overflows from Thy Spirit.
This room an antechamber is: Beyond--the Hall of Very Bliss! Quick, Death! for underneath thy door I see the glimmering of Heaven's floor.
(After Elis Wyn, 1671-1734, one of the Welsh Classics)
Leave your land, your goods lay down! Life's green tree shall soon grow brown. Pride of birth and pleasure gay Renounce or they shall own you!
Manly strength and beauty fair, Dear-bought sense, experience rare, Learning ripe, companions fond Yield, lest their bond ensnare you!
Is there then no sure relief, Thou arch-murderer and thief, Death, from thine o'ermastering law-- Thy monstrous maw can none shun?