“_Oh that mine head were waters_, _and mine eyes a fountain of
tears_” JER. lx. 1.
“O! na bai fy mhen yn ddyfroedd”
WOULD that my poor head were waters
That I might not cease to weep
Over Sion’s sons and daughters,
Wrapt in waywardness and sleep!
Foxes, the vineyard thieving,
Are destroying all the bloom,
And the bright Sheckinah, leaving
Sion, leaves her to her doom.
Lord, remember how Thou swearedst
In Thy covenant of old
To redeem, and how Thou carest
For the frailest in Thy fold.
Shed within us some reflection
Of Thyself, The Living Word,
Thou That art The Resurrection
And The Everlasting Lord!