May we not hope that more and more
   The day for which we long have sighed
They long for too—­that we with them
   May praise the Lamb—­the other side?

And when we reach fair Sion’s hill,
   Where angel hosts in bliss abide,
Shall we not clasp the hands of those
   Whom once we lost—­the other side?

Then ever with them we shall dwell
   By grief untouched, by sin untried,
And join with them in that sweet song
   That never ends—­the other side.

But friendship there shall purer be,
   No love betrayed, no vows denied;
Nor pain nor death shall part us more
   From those we love—­the other side!

GLASYNYS.

Owen Wyn Jones was born near Carnarvon, March 4th, 1828.  His father was a quarryman, and the future poet followed the same calling till his love for literature became too strong for him.  He was ordained deacon in 1860, and held curacies in Anglesey and Monmouthshire.  He died at Towyn, April 4, 1870.  His works are unpublished, but Mr. O. M. Edwards promises us an edition, which will be not the least among the invaluable services he has rendered to Welsh literature.

Blodeuwedd and Hywel.

Oh how sweet on fair spring morning, ’neath its cloke of hoarfrost
peering,
’Tis to see the tiny blossom with its smile the earth adorning,
   Oh yes ’tis sweet, oh yes ’tis sweet. 
But the smiles of Hywel slender, and the kindness of his bearing,
When my ice-bound heart he’s thawing with his honeyed kisses tender,
   Are sweeter far a thousand times, oh sweeter far.

Sweet the violet on the swelling bank when first it shyly bloweth,
Pale and wan but cheerly smiling on its lonely sheltered dwelling,
   That is sweet, oh that is sweet. 
But the sight of Hywel coming, sweeter is than flower that groweth,
On his cheeks a rarer beauty, near the fold at hour of gloaming,
   Sweeter is a thousand times, oh sweeter far.

Laughing ever in the sunlight, primrose brakes the hillside cover,
April breezes stir the petals till they smile e’en in the twilight;
   They are sweet, oh they are sweet. 
So in spite of opposition, true and constant is my lover,
Ne’er a moment he forgets me, in the night of persecution,
   Sweetheart mine, O sweetheart mine.

Sweet the countless daisies flecking grass-green glade and meadow dewy,
Like some rare and precious jewels nature’s verdant garments decking,
   They are sweet, oh they are sweet. 
But the eyes of Hywel glowing, ’neath his forehead broad and ruddy,
When the tears—­love’s best enchantment—­fill them full to over-flowing,
   Are sweeter far a thousand times, oh, sweeter far.

Roses white and lilies tender, marigolds and all sweet posies
Scenting all the air together, fair are they in summer weather,
   O lilies white, O roses fair! 
But like every summer blossom, lilies fade and so do roses,
There’s one flower that fadeth never, bloom of love will last for ever,
   Sweetheart mine, O sweetheart mine.