MRS . EDMUNDS.
The queen of heaven now full unto the sight,
Darted her beams from ’neath the darkened sky;
My Edgar's eyes were hid in endless night,
He saw no more, nor ever breathed a sigh.
THE CHRISTIAN'S HAPPY LOT.
(TRANSLATED FROM THE WELSH OF CYNDDELW.)
How happy is the humble Christian's lot !
Amid a world of sorrow and of woe,
While suffering from affliction's heavy rod ,
His countenance is bright with glorious hope :
Contentment sweetens his else bitter cup.
From his pale lips no murmur words are heard,
But praise and prayer alike for ease or pain.
If on the bed of death, in pangs unknown,
His brow's serene and every feature calm,
And his last earthly sound, a hymn of praise :
His soul will flee to realms beyond the sky,
To sing His praise, who for him deigned to die.
0 ! enw hyfryd sydd yn dwyn fy mryd
O'r ell a wela’i yma yn y byd ;
Enw fy Nuw, fy Anwylyd, a fy Mrawd,
Yr hwn ddaeth er fy mwyn i wisgo cnawd.
Dan haeddiant Hwn mi lecha'n ddigon clyd,
Uwch cyrhaedd holl brofedigaethau'r byd ;
Difyraf fy oes trwy edrych ar ei wedd,
A’i ganmol wnaf yr ochr draw i'r bedd.
My Bible ! Often has thy holy page
Recalled my wandering thoughts which are too prone
To rest on earth, and fixed them on the skies :
How oft when worldly pleasures lured the soul,
Thy strains would whisper “ all is vanity ;"
When proffered friendship my fond heart would warm,
Thy warning voice bade me to “ cease from man ;"
Tudalen:Yr athrawes o ddifrif.pdf/155
MRS . EDMUNDS.