Telynegion Maes a Môr/Ora Pro Nobis (cyfieithiad)

← Ora Pro Nobis

Telynegion Maes a Môr Telynegion Bywyd gan Eliseus Williams (Eifion Wyn) Telynegion Bywyd wedi'i gyfieithu gan Parch. J. W. Wynne-Jones

Mun ac Oenig →

"ORA PRO NOBIS."

My windows are darkened
By rain-storms without,
The gale of November
Is raising its rout;
The stalwarts of oak-forests
Shake to their base,
The sheep and the oxen
Crave sheltering place —

Our Father, remember
The birds in their woe;
So far is Thy summer,
So near is Thy snow.

In flood o'er the valley
The river gleams bright;
The clouds are swept onward,
Like legions in flight ;
My cot feels the buffet
Of squalls as they smite,
Yet, better the hearth-side
Than street such a night —

Our Father, remember
The arab out there;
So thin is his garment,
So biting Thy air.

The white foam is fringing
The edge of the sand,
As white as the leaflet
I hold in my hand :
The curlew above us
Is whirled, like a cry,
In fear of God's tempest
And anger on high.

Our Father, remiember
The sailor by night;
So vast is Thy ocean,
His vessel so slight.

Cyfieithydd:
J. W. WYNNE-JONES, M.A.,
Ficer Caernarfon.