In the meantime the Rev. Jones having honestly performed his part at Staten Island, had met with the same discouragements there which he experienced at Newtown. The French and Dutch inhabitants were adverse to paying a minister whose language they could not understand. Some of them, as a pretext for non-payment, even tried to impugn Mr. Jones' character. They declared him a man of ill-life and conversation. But this was rebutted by Justice Stillwell on behalf of the English. He had never heard it; Mr. Jones had been recommended by Sir Edmund Andross, and a majority of the people were satisfied with him. The Court of Sessions was appealed to, and ordered his salary to be collected. He now returned to Newtown, and agreed to accept a free-will offering for his services. On February 28th, 1684, the town resolved that Mr. Morgan Jones shall be schoolmaster of our town, and will teach on the Sabbath day those that will come to hear him, allowing him for exercising on the Sabbath day what every man will please.

The Rev. Morgan Jones had again changed his ministerial relations. The people of Eastchester had long desired to have him, and, perhaps, had enjoyed his services in the fall and winter of 1683. They now offered liberal inducements, and he began io officiate there August 3rd,

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him at Newtown never having been fulfilled, either as respected his salary or the fitting up of his residence, he applied to the governor and council for redress. A summons to the town authorities to appear and answer, was sufficient; gave them receipts in full. [These receipts are entered in the town records in Mr. Jones' own handwriting.]

Dr.

Of his services in Newtown little is known beyond what has been related. His administration of baptism and the marriage vow is incidentally mentioned. He was a ready speaker, and of a conciliatory disposition, but different accounts are given of his character and qualifications. Calamy, in speaking of him while settled in Wales, intimates that he wanted capacity, but was honest. But Dr. Mather, in his "Magnalia," sets him in a positively bad light, yet I attach but little importance to his statements about Mr. Jones, because they are not only improbable and puerile, but are given at second hand, and not on the personal knowledge of the doctor, whose credulity was equal to his learning. The history of Mr. Jones, so far as known, affords nothing positive against him; and it may be stated in his favour, that he enjoyed the acquaintance and confidence of Dr. Thomas Lloyd, of Pensylvania, and his brother, Charles Lloyd, Esq.. of Dolobran, Wales, who were his college mates at Oxford.

FAMOUS HYMNS COMPOSED BY WORKING MEN.

BY REV. J. CYNDDYLAN JONES.

An esteened friend of mine, the Rev. W. Alonzo Griffiths, of Sketty, near Swansea, has just published a book on "Welsh Hymnologists." Singular to tell, it is the first attempt of the kind in the Weish language. How much more creditable to the

Eisteddfod, and how much more profitable to the country, would be a historical or a critical essay on Welsh hymns and hymnologists, than a poem in "bond metre" on the "Sun" or the "Air" or the "Water," all poetic subjects for the celebrated "chair." However, Mr Griffiths took up this subject as a labour of love, a labour involving minute investigation for a series of years; and the verdict of the reader cannot but be extremely favorable. It is to be wished that the outward appearance of the book was more in harmony with the delicate phases of the religious poetry therein depicted; we always like to see noble paintings hung up in nicely gilded frames. However, it is a book which every Welshman should possess, for it is a valuable repertory of trustworthy facts touching the history of our hymnologists, great and small, and the authorship of our more popular hymns.

I shall take advantage of the appearance of this precious little volume to offer a few remarks on Welsh hymns and hymnologists. Let me here observe that I have noticed one or two ommissions in Mr. Griffith's book. First of all, I find no refer

ence in it to the "Cyfamod Disigl," by Hugh Derfel, on the whole one of the grandest productions of modern Welsh literature. Only the last verse can, perhaps, lay claim to a permanent place in Welsh hymn books; but certainly no collection is complete without it. It was the great hymn of the wonderful revival of thirty years ago, the revival which is usually associated with the name of the late David Morgan, of Ysbytty. Hardly a service was held in Cardiganshire but this hymn was sung, and as sure as it was sung it lifted the congregations to a state of high ecstasy. It

reads as follows:

Y Gwr a fu gynt o dan hoelion,
Dros ddyn pechadurus fel fi,
A yfodd y cwpan i'r gwaelod

Ei Hunan ar ben Calfari;
Ffynonhell y cariad tragwyddol,
Hen gartref meddyliau o hedd,
Dwg finau i'r unrhyw gyfamod

Nas torir gan angeu na'r bedd.

I have attempted a translation, but, as is well-known, in translation the original composition loses its bloom, that quality which gives it its peculiar flavor. For instance, the Welsh word "Gwr" has no equivalent in English, being more akin to (perhaps identical with) the Latin "vir" rather than "homo." In Welsh it is often applied to the Saviour, and carries with it the idea of love combined with 1everence :—

The man who was nailed for transgressors,
Who suffered for sinners like me,
Himself drank the cup to the bottom,
In anguish on mount Calvary;
Thou fountain of love everlasting,

The home of the Counsel of Peace,
Bring me to the bonds of the covenant-
The covenant that never will cease.

died at Tregarth, near Bangor, last Strange to say, the author, who year was a working man. When he was introduced to me, some ten years ago, in the chapel house at Tregarth as Hugh Derfel, the immortal author of "Cyfamod Disigl"-I say "immortal" advisedly, for as long as the Welsh language will last, Hugh Derfel's hymn will be recited and usually sober-minded deacons were sung-I thought the venerable and playing me a hoax. However, as they persisted in their assertion that the working quarryman before me was the author of the famous revival

hymn of thirty years ago, which lifted thousands of people to the very portals of heaven, and myself among them, I was obliged to give credence to their very improbable story. Then I inquired of him the circumstances under which he composed it. His

answer was, so far as I can trust my memory, that as a stalwart young man he had left Llanderfel, his native village, for a few weeks to help in the harvest in the English counties on the borders of England and Wales, a custom very prevalent in those days among Welsh laborers. Having been away for some weeks, working hard at the harvest, deprived of all meams of grace, just as he was crossing the hills between Corwen and Llanderfel, meditating on the truths of the gospel, a sudden inspiration seemed to uplift his soul, and in imperial cadences he poured out his heart in the above wonderful hymn, of which I have only given the last verse. But that was not the only inspiration of his life, for, if I remember rightly, in the four handsome volumes compiled by the late Owen Jones, of Llandudno, under the title of "Ceinion Llenyddiaeth Cymru" (The Beauties of Welsh Literature), is a poem by the same working man on "The Judgment" (Cywydd y Farn), which the complier, a compe tent authority, pronounced one of the best in the language-an opinion in which I am disposed to coincideand fit to be compared with Dafydd Ionawr's famous ode on the same subject. It may interest some of your readers to know that the son of this richly endowed working man was for years a Board schoolmaster at Abercarn.

It were well here to introduce to notice another working man who is destined to live long in the memory of his countrymen in virtue of one hymn, which is yearly growing in popularity. I refer to William Jones (Ehedydd Ial). When I was preaching in Ial (Flintshire) some eight years ago, I heard a hymn which I never heard before, and inquiring as to its authorship and history, my friends expressed surprise that I had

171 Jones

never heard of William (Ehedydd Ial). I give the hymn first in Welsh, and I know hundreds of your readers will be glad to see it, as it has not yet found its way into any collection of hymns with which I am acquainted. It abounds too much in fine fancies to become ever an ideal hymn; but to a Welsh ear the rhyme and fancies, once heard, will never be forgotten :

-

Y nefoedd uwch fy mhen
A dduodd fel y nos,
Heb haul na lleuad wen,

Nac unrhyw seren dlos-
A llym gyfiawnder oddi fry
Yn saethu mellt o'r cwmwl du.

Cydwybod euog oedd

Yn rhuo dan fy mron,
mi gofia'i chwerw floedd

Tra ar y ddaear hon;
Ac yn fv ing ymdrechais ffoi,
Heb wybod am un lle i droi.
Mi drois at ddrws y ddeddf,
Gan ddisgwyl cael rhyddhad;
Gofynais iddi'n lleddf

Koi i mi esmwythad,-
"Ffo am dy einioes," ebe hi,
"At Fab y Dyn ar Galfari."

Gan ffoi, ymdrechais ffoi,

Yn swn taranau ffroch,
Tra'r mellt yn chwyrn gyffroi
O'm hol fel byddin goch!
Cyraeddais ben Calfaria fryn,
Ac yno gwelais Iesu gwyn.

Er nad yw 'nghnawd ond gwellt,
A'm hesgyrn doim ond clai,
Mi ganaf yn y mel lt,

Maddeuodd Duw fy mai;
Mae Craig yr oesoedd dan fy nhraed,
A'r mellt yn diffodd yn y gwaed.

I append a translation, lacking the double rhyme of the original, it is true, but on the whole as faithful to the ideas as is practicable:

The sky above my head

Was turned to darkest night;
Nor sun nor moon nor stars

Could shed a ray of light;
And Justice stern 'mid thunders loud,
Was shooting lightning from the cloud.
My guilty conscience roared-

It filed my soul with dread;

It's voice I'll ne'r forget

Whilst on the earth I tread; In anguish sore away I fled,

Not knowing where to hide my head.

I turned me to the Law

In hope there rest to find;

I asked in accents low

For calm and peace of mind.
"Escape," said she: away I flee
For very life to Calvary.

'Mid thunders loud and long
With all my might I sped;
Around me lightnings played
Like soldiers scarlet-rei;

I reached the Mount, both faint and sad,
And saw the Saviour crimson clad.

Now, though my flesh is grass
And all my bones but clay,
'Mid lightnings red I'll sing-

God washed my sins away;
The Rock upholds me in the flood,
The lightnings die in Jesus blood.

66

Mr. Griffiths, on a tour last year in North Wales for the Bible Society, visited the aged Christian, and learnt from him the genesis of this hymn, which is yearly growing in popularity "Why I call," said Mr. Griffiths to the old man, 76 years of age, as he was tying the sheaves in the harvest field, "is to learn under what circumstances you composed that marvellous hymn, "Mid lightings red I sing.' "Oh," answered the old man, "I will tell you at once. I was a servant man in a farm in Llanelidan parish with a widow woman, who had two daughters, and the three of them were about the godliest people I ever knew. One of them sickened and for a long time she pined away in consumption. Said my mistress to me, "go upstairs and say some. thing to cheer my dear daughter-she is worse to-day, and more timid and low-spirited. She said just now that the lightnings of Sinai's law were fill ing her with dismay!" I went out to the riverside close by to think what I had better say. In the middle of the field was an oak; I put my back against it, shut my eyes, and

began to make a stanza to comfort her, and these four lines emerged:

Although my flesh is grass

And all my bones but clay, 'Mid lightnings red I'll singGod washed my sins away.

Then I started off to see my young mistress; and, after saluting her, I recited those lines, bidding her to be of good cheer. She was silent for a while, then repeated the last two lines as though she had relief." The rest of the hymn was composed after. wards.

These two workingmen are only typical of thousands in Wales forty years ago. Their days and nights were spent in reading God's Word, in composing hymns, or in preparing sound, solid, but striking addresses for the church meetings. It is with regret that many of us see these good old times departing, and a new order of things established. "Cymru Fu"-the Wales that was-was religious; "Cymru Fydd "—the Wales that will be-what will it be? Political? If so, let us banish forever the spirit of bitterness.

A GLACIER.

All things which go to make up nature as it appears to our senses do the work which the supremest wisdom has destined them to accomplish, it may be very slowly, but with everlasting patience, till iron necessity-the Mother of Naturehas compelled perfect fulfilment of undeviating law. Given sufficient time and the smallest effect will produce an immense result. Let but the slow dripping water, drip, drip, long enough and the hard stern looking rock will gradually dissolve under the action of this untiring persistency. Snow, ice, and glaciers have worked on this universal principle and in consequence have been powerful instruments in changing