XVIII. THE UNSEEN.
Anweledig rwy'n dy garu
8,7,8,7,8,7,8,7
Though unseen, O Lord, I love Thee,
Wondrous is thy saving might,
Thus to wean my soul so sweetly
From its sinful chief delight:
More Thou didst in one short instant
Than a world could e'er have done,
Winning Thee a happy dwelling
In this sterile heart of stone.