Yr athrawes o ddifrif: sef Lloffion o hanes bywyd a marwolaeth Mrs. Edmunds, Bangor, yn nghyda detholiad o'i hysgrifeniadauArgraffwyd, Dros y Cyhoeddwyr, gan G. Parry, Hoel y Bont, 1859 - 142 páginas |
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Yr athrawes o ddifrif: sef Lloffion o hanes bywyd a marwolaeth Mrs. Edmunds ... Mary Ann Edmunds,Mary A. Jones Edmunds Visualização integral - 1859 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
addysg afiechyd angeu allan amgylchiad anwyl Athrawes Bangor Bala Beibl beneath bobl byddai bydded bynag Caerfyrddin canlynol cofiant crefydd Cristion cymaint cymeryd death dyddlyfr dywedai dyweyd ddaear ddywedyd earth Ebrill Edmunds ereill Farewell feel flowers Forget friend fydd fyned gair gallaf ganddi genyf grave gweled gwyleidd-dra nghalon happy head heart heaven home hope hwnw iddi Iesu ieuanc Israel Lacharn land last light Lines love loved llafur llai llinellau meddai meddwl meet Mehefin merched moesoldeb mwyaf myned natur never night o'er oddi oddiwrth once past peace PENNOD pethau pleasure praise PHROFIAD CREFYDDOL rest rinweddol Sabboth side sleep song sorrow soul sweet tears teimlad teulu tragywyddol tuag thee theimladau thou thoughts wave weep wneyd world wyf yn ofni wyf yn teimlo ychydig ydwyf ysbryd Ysgolion ysgrifenu ysgrifenydd
Passagens conhecidas
Página 8 - I'LL praise my Maker with my breath ; And when my voice is lost in death, Praise shall employ my nobler powers : My days of praise shall ne'er be past, While life, and thought, and being last, Or immortality endures.
Página 106 - THERE is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, — They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground. The storm that wrecks the winter sky No more disturbs their deep repose, Than summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose. I long to lay this painful head And aching heart beneath the soil, — To slumber in that dreamless bed, From all my toil...
Página 109 - THUS saith the Lord, The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool: Where is the house that ye build unto me? And where is the place of my rest ? For all those things hath mine hand made, And all those things have been, saith the Lord: But to this man will I look, Even to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, And trembleth at my word.
Página 22 - On me be all long-suffering shown ; Turn, and look upon me, Lord, And break my heart of stone. 2 Saviour, Prince, enthroned above, Repentance to impart, Give me, through thy dying love, The humble, contrite heart ; Give what I have long...
Página 10 - How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot ; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be ! Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Página xiii - I THANK the goodness and the grace Which on my birth have smiled, And made me, in these Christian days, A happy English child.
Página 5 - How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful is man ! How passing wonder He who made him such...
Página 112 - Oh that I had the wings of a dove! then would I fly away and be at rest.
Página 17 - Sure, never till my latest breath, Can I forget that look : It seemed to charge me with his death, Though not a word he spoke.
Página 53 - Oh ! when a Mother meets on high The Babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight...