it kept the hallelujah alive in silent but constant souls; and in how many cases it awoke a conscience long hypnotized under corrupt custom, and showed a renegade Christian how morally untuned he was. Daylight came slowly after the morning star, but when the dawn reddened it was in welcome to Pritchard's and Penry's gospel song; and sunrise hastened at the call of Caradoc, and Powell, and Erbury, and Maurice, the holy men who followed them, some with the trumpet of Sinai and some with the harp of Calvary. Cambria was being prepared for its first great revival of religion. There was no rich portfolio of Christian hymns such as exists to-day, but surely there were not wanting pious words to the old chants of Bangor and the airs of "Wild Wales." When time brought Howell Harris and Daniel Rowland, and the great "Reformation" of the eighteenth century, the renowned William Williams, "the Watts of Wales," appeared, and began his tuneful work. The province soon became a land of hymns. The candles lit and left burning here and there by Penry, Maurice, and the Owens, blazed up to beacon-fires through all the twelve counties when Harris, at the head of the mighty movement, carried with him the sacred songs of Williams, kindling more lights everywhere between the Dee and the British Channel. William Williams of Pantycelyn was born in 1717, at Cefncoed Farm, near Llandovery. Three years younger than Harris, (an Oxford graduate,) and educated only at a village school and an academy at Llwynllwyd, he was the song protagonist of the holy campaign as the other was its champion preacher. From first to last Williams wrote nine hundred and sixteen hymns, some of which are still heard throughout the church militant, and others survive in local use and affection. He died Jan. 11, 1791, at Pantycelyn, where he had made his home after his marriage. One of the hymns in his Gloria, his second publication, may well have been his last. It was dear to him above others, and has been dear to devout souls in many lands. My God, my portion and my love; It was fitting that Williams should name the first collection of his hymns (all in his native Welsh) The Hallelujah. Its lyrics are full of adoration for the Redeemer, and thanksgivings for His work. "ONWARD RIDE IN TRIUMPH, JESUS," Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus, Has been sung in Wales for a century and a half, and is still a favorite. Onward ride in triumph, Jesus, Gird thy sword upon thy thigh; Neither earth nor Hell's own vastness Whensoever Thou art near.* The unusual militant strain in this pean of conquest soon disappears, and the gentler aspects of Christ's atoning sacrifice occupy the writer's mind and pen. "IN EDEN-O THE MEMORY!” Yn Eden cofiaf hyny byth! The text, "He was wounded for our transgressions," is amplified in this hymn, and the Saviour is shown bruising Himself while bruising the serpent. The first stanza gives the key-note,— In Eden-O the memory! What countless gifts were lost to me! My crown, my glory fell; But Calvary's great victory Restored that vanished crown to me; On this my songs shall dwell; --and the multitude of Williams' succeeding "songs" that chant the same theme shows how well he kept *The following shows the style of Rev. Elvet Lewis' translation: Blessed Jesus, march victorious With Thy sword fixed at Thy side; The God-Warrior in His ride. his promise. The following hymn in Welsh (Cymmer, Jesu fi fel'r ydwyf) antedates the advice of Dr. Malan to Charlotte Elliott, “Come just as you are". Take me as I am, O Saviour, Better I can never be; Thou alone canst bring me nearer, Self but draws me far from Thee. But within Thy wounds be saved; -and another (Mi dafla maich oddi ar fy ngwar) reminds us of Bunyan's Pilgrim in sight of the Cross: I'll cast my heavy burden down, Guilt high as towering mountain tops He stretched His pure white hands abroad A crown of thorns He wore, Williams was called "The Sweet Singer of Wales" and "The Watts of Wales" because he was the chief poet and hymn-writer of his time, but the lady he married, Miss Mary Francis, was literally a singer, with a voice so full and melodious that the people to whom he preached during his itineraries, which she sometimes shared with him, were often more moved by her sweet hymnody than by his exhortations. On one occasion the good man, accompanied by his wife, put up at Bridgend Tavern in Llangefin, Anglesea, and a mischievous crowd, wishing to plague the "Methodists," planned to make night hideous in the house with a boisterous merry-making. The fiddler, followed by a gang of roughs, pushed his way to the parlor, and mockingly asked the two guests if they would "have a tune.' "Yes," replied Williams, falling in with his banter, "anything you like, my lad; 'Nancy Jig' or anything else." And at a sign from her husband, as soon as the fellow began the jig, Mrs. Williams struck in with one of the poet-minister's well-known Welsh hymns in the same metre, Gwaed Dy groes sy'n c'odi fyny. Calvary's blood the weak exalteth --and followed the player note for note, singing the sacred words in her sweet, clear voice, till he stopped ashamed, and took himself off with all his gang. *A less literal but more hymn-like translation is: Jesu's blood can raise the feeble As a conqueror to stand; Jesu's blood is all-prevailing O'er the mighty of the land: Let the breezes Blow from Calvary on me. Says the author of Sweet Singers of Wales, "This refrain has been the pass word of many powerful revivals." |
