PART III.
POETRY
ORIGINAL AND A FEW TRANSLATIONS.[1]
DEATH
I long to lay this aching head,
And weary heart beneath the soil;
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.
For misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild;
I perish, Oh! my mother earth
Take back thy child.
On thy dear lap, these limbs reclined
Shall gently moulder under thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind,
Resembling me.
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Say what is death? a valley
Betwixt the hill of time and vast eternity,
Dismal and dark to those who have no ray
To light them through its gloom; but happy they,
Who have in this world found a guide
To lead them safely to the other side.
Oh! what is death? a mighty conqueror,
The king of terrors and his empire vast:
But Jesus, king of peace, upon the cross
Hath led this mighty conqueror in chains,
And now, no more he'll conquer.
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- ↑ Y mae amryw o'r llinellau hyn yn awgrymu ef bod wedi en bwriadu yn bennodol at et hamgylchiad el hun.
