Bart Wolffe - Pop

My Father-Land by John Jenkins

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Duration: 4:51

Land of the Cymry! thou art still In rock and valley, stream and hill As wild and grand; As thou hast been in days of yore As thou hast ever been before As thou shalt be for evermore My Father-land! Where are the bards, like thine, who've sung The warrior's praise? the harp hath strung With mighty hand? Made chords of magic sound arise That flung their echoes through the skies And gained the fame that never dies My Father-land? And where are warriors like thine own Who in the battle's front have shown So firm a stand? Who fought against the Romans' skill "The conquerors of the world," until They found thou wert "invincible," My Father-land? And where are hills like thine, or where Are vales so sweet, or scenes so fair Such praise command? There towering Snowdon, first in height Or Cader Idris, dreary sight And lonely Clwyd? Oh! how bright My Father-land! And where are warriors like thine own Who in the battle's front have shown So firm a stand? Who fought against the Romans' skill "The conquerors of the world," until They found thou wert "invincible," My Father-land? And where are hills like thine, or where Are vales so sweet, or scenes so fair Such praise command? There towering Snowdon, first in height Or Cader Idris, dreary sight And lonely Clwyd? Oh! how bright My Father-land! Oh! how I love thee, though I mourn That cold neglect should on thee turn Thy name to brand; And oft the scalding tear will start Raining its dew-drops from the heart To think how far we are apart My Father-land And when my days are almost done And, faltering on, I've nearly run Life's dreary sand; Still, still my fainting breath shall be Bestowed upon thy memory My soul shall wing its way to thee My Father-land!

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Writers: John Jenkins

My Father-Land by John Jenkins

My Father-Land by John Jenkins

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