Arglwydd ar wain truy'r anialoch_;

--and that of Dr. Heber Evans,--

Keep me very near to Jesus,
Though beneath His Cross it be,
In this world of evil-doing
'Tis the Cross that cleanseth me;

--and also that native hymn of expectation, high and sweet, whose writer
we have been unable to identify--

The glory is coming! God said it on high,
When light in the evening will break from the sky;
The North and South and the East and the West,
With joy of salvation and peace will be bless'd.

* * * * *

O summer of holiness, hasten along!
The purpose of glory is constant and strong;
The winter will vanish, the clouds pass away;
O South wind of Heaven, breath softly today!

Of the almost countless hymns that voiced the spirit of the great
revival, the nine following are selected because they are
representative, and all favorites--and because there is no room for a
larger number. The first line of each is given in the original Welsh:

"DWY ADEN COLOMEN PE CAWN."

O had I the wings of a dove
How soon would I wander away
To gaze from Mount Nebo I'd love
On realms that are fairer than day.
My vision, not clouded nor dim,
Beyond the dark river should run;
I'd sing, with my thoughts upon Him,
The sinless, the crucified one.

This is another of Thomas Williams' hymns. One of the tunes suitable to
its feeling and its measure was "Edom," by Thomas Evans. It was much
sung in 1859, as well as in 1904.

"CAELBOD YN FORSEC DAN YR IAN."

Early to bear the yoke excels
By far the joy in sin that dwells;
The paths of wisdom still are found
In peace and solace to abound.

The young who serve Him here below
The wrath to come shall never know;
Of such in heaven are pearls that shine
Unnumbered in the crown divine.

Written for children and youth by Rev. Thomas Jones, of Denbigh, born
1756; died 1820,--a Calvinistic Methodist preacher, author of a
biography of Thomas Charles of Bala, and various theological works.

"DYMA GARIAD FEL Y MOROEDD, TOSTURIASTHAN FEL Y LLI."

Love unfathomed as the ocean
Mercies boundless as the wave!
Lo the King of Life, the guiltless,
Dies my guilty soul to save;
Who can choose but think upon it,
Who can choose but praise and sing?
Here is love, while heaven endureth,
Nought can to oblivion b