The Cambrian, Volume 20

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T.J. Griffiths, 1900 - Welsh
 

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Page 486 - And you, that were sometime alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled in the body of his flesh through death, to present you holy and unblameable and unreproveable in his sight...
Page 525 - It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to Him Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize : It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Page 109 - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
Page 503 - I knew a very wise man so much of Sir Chr — 's sentiment, that he believed if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.
Page 228 - IT singeth low in every heart, We hear it each and all, — A song of those who answer not, However we may call ; They throng the silence of the breast, We see them as of yore, — The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet. Who walk with us no more.
Page 22 - If we work upon marble, it will perish ; if we work upon brass, time will efface it If we rear temples, they will crumble to the dust.
Page 375 - She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule.
Page 442 - There's a man that makes peeresses here by the hundred. He regards neither Portland, nor Grenville, nor Pitt, But creates them at once without patent or writ ; By the stroke of a hammer without the king's aid, A lady, or countess, or duchess is made ! Yet high is the station from which they are sent, And all their great titles are got by descent : And where'er they are seen, in a palace or shop, Their rank they preserve and are still at the top.
Page 551 - My work is mine, And, heresy or not, if my hand slacked I should rob God - since He is fullest good Leaving a blank instead of violins. I say, not God Himself can make man's best Without best men to help Him. I am one best Here in Cremona, using sunlight well To fashion finest maple till it serves More cunningly than throats, for harmony. 'Tis rare delight : I would not change my skill To be the Emperor with bungling hands, And lose my work, which comes as natural As self at waking.
Page 393 - London dead. Much good, some ill he did ; so hope all's even, And that his soul through Mercy's gone to Heaven.

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