From The Welsh

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O pilgrim wearied from the storm,
Lift up thy gaze, behold the scene;
The Lamb, he is our Mediator,
In vestments flowing low and free;
With faithfulness as golden girdle
Bells thereon proclaim the sound
Of full forgiveness for the sinner
By infinite Atonement found.

Remember in thy state of weakness
But ankle deep the waters rise -
Yet without number are the cubits
Measured to you from the skies;
Though children of the resurrection,
Swimming in these waters wide;
No depth nor width can ever span
The substance of Bethesda's tide.

O wondrous depths of our salvation!
The holy secret here we find,
The God of gods he has appeared
In flesh and nature of mankind;
Here's the Person, he who suffered,
For us beneath the law he groaned,
Until Justice cried 'Sufficient,
Let him free, he has atoned.'

O happy hour of rest eternal
From all the labours that I bore;
Steeped in a sea of glorious wonders,
Endless without bound or shore;
Entrance free to dwell for aye
In the courts of Three in One,
A shoreless sea to swim for ever,
Man a God and God a Man.

Ann Griffiths Bererin llesg gan rym y stormydd trans Fr John Ryan OMI MA PhD