rm and tide:
Within the haven calm and still
They are resting now--the other side.

When gloomy Jordan roared and swelled,
The great High Priest was there to guide,
And safe above the stormy waves
He bore them--to the other side.

What though their bodies in the earth
We laid to wait the Judgment-tide?
Themselves are fled--they are not there
But living still--the other side.

The winds that murmur o'er their graves,
To us who still on earth abide,
Bring echoes faint of that sweet song
They ever sing--the other side.

What though in spite of rain and dew
The lilies on their grave have died?
The palms they bear can never fade
Nor wither--on the other side.

May we not dream they feel with us
When we by various ills are tried,
That when we triumph over sin,
They triumph too--the other side?

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 His works are unpublished, but Mr.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