CHAPTER X: S. R.--DAVID JONES OF TREBOBTH--ROGER EDWARDS--THOMAS REES, D.D.

S. R.--DAVID JONES OF TREBOBTH--ROGER EDWARDS--THOMAS REES, D.D.

The Rev. SAMUEL ROBERTS--better known as S. R.--was born at Llanbrynmair, on the 6th of March, 1800. His father before him was a preacher of high worth, and a father of many churches; he contributed largely to theological literature, and was a trustee and correspondent of The Evangelical Magazine. The son was also an indefatigable worker, and divided his life between America and Wales. He used his pen lavishly on behalf of all reforms, whether in public economy or church principles, whether in social movements or in religious progress. He was an uncompromising iconoclast, and possibly spent too much of his time and talent in 'handling the bow.' He died at Conway in the month of October, 1885.

In 1841 he published a collection of over two thousand hymns, which passed through at least eight editions. It is a very fine collection, and has several hymns and translations by the editor. The names of authors, however, are not given. I must therefore give the following selections as anonymous: __________________________________________________________________

[66]Samuel Roberts (S. R.) (editor)
THE FRUITS OF CHRIST'S TRAVAIL.
Our dearest Lord went forth to sow in tears,
When days were dark, when He was weary too;
But now the joy of harvest-tide appears,
And for His toil shall endless praise be due.
As firstfruits went He to the blessed land,
And from His woe shall fields of harvest rise;
It shall be gathered by the Lord's own hand,

From earth's four corners to th' eternal skies. __________________________________________________________________

[67]Samuel Roberts (S. R.) (editor)
MINISTERING ANGELS.
Great God, to what glory and lofty estate
Thine Only-begotten was raised, and made great!
The angels in dazzling white garments are known
As ministers of His untarnishèd throne.
The angels are bidden to guide us who roam,
To lead us and bring us the narrow way home
Whatever the dangers that crowd on the road,
They meet us in journeying homeward to God.
When I must depart from this frail tent of dust,
When I must appear at the throne of the Just,
Oh, let a kind angel from Paradise come,

To guide and defend me and bring me safe home. __________________________________________________________________

[68]Samuel Roberts (S. R.) (editor)
WHAT OF THE NIGHT?
Watchman, say, what of the night?
Is the dawning still afar?
Pilgrim, see, so fair and bright,
O'er the hills the Morning-Star:
Watchman, what denotes its sign?
Is it better time for man?
Pilgrim, 'tis the dawn Divine
Of the everlasting plan.
Watchman, say, what of the night?
Is it still not nearing day?
Pilgrim, night is done! the light
Spreads upon its glorious way:
Watchman, why departest thou?
Why turn home when all is gain?
Pilgrim, o'er the wide earth now

Comes the Prince of Peace to reign! __________________________________________________________________

John Roberts, Llangwm
THE MARRIAGE OF THE LAMB. [3]
I.
II.
Who the Prince?--and what the chariot
O'er the starry pathways led?
Armies follow on white horses,
Many crowns are on His head:
King of glory!
On His robe the name is read.
His look pierceth through creation,
Flames within His eyes abide:
Who is this--but Zion's Bridegroom?
Gently smiles He on His bride:
His the garment
With His life-blood deeply dyed.
Who is this fair Bride approaching
Through the gates of death serene?
Lo, the beauteous light of dawning
Blushing leaves the radiant scene:
She is Zion,
In fine linen white and dean.
Through the shining realms of starlight
Let the angels clear the way;
Let all Nature wear its glory,
And each flower its sweet array:
Sing the marriage

Of the Lamb in many a lay. __________________________________________________________________

[3] These verses are by Rev. John Roberts, Llangwm. __________________________________________________________________

THE LORD'S TABLE.
The table of Thy grace,
Lord, here I take my place;
Let me Thy face behold well pleased:
Thy face, my dearest Lord,
Doth highest joy afford,
And love's sweet word lights up the feast.
When musing I draw near
The woe of nail and spear,
With reverent fear my spirit guide:
Let me Thy freedom share,
Make strong my faith to bear
Thine ark with care till eventide.
Soon, soon doth time remove
These earthly feasts of love--
The sorrow of the world remains:
But in that sweet countrie
No sword to bear have we,

For charity unending reigns. __________________________________________________________________ __________________________________________________________________

David Jones (of Treborth)

The Rev. DAVID JONES (of Treborth) was born June 2, 1805, in the parish of Dolyddelen, Caernarvonshire. His eldest brother was the celebrated Welsh preacher--John Jones, Talysarn. Neither of them as children had any opportunities of education beyond what the Sunday school provided. Their father died when the eldest brother was only ten and the youngest only two. So, as they grew up, the former went to work in the slate quarry, and the latter stayed at home to work on the farm for his mother. David Jones, from his boyhood, was fond of preaching: often he would retire to some unfrequented spot and become both preacher and audience himself. He was twenty-one years old when he gave his first sermon in public, and soon came into note. He, like his brother, had the true instinct of self-culture, which saved him to a large extent from the misfortune of early disadvantages. He was ordained at Bala in 1834, and laboured successively at Caernarvon, Treborth, and Llanfairfechan, where he died June 23, 1868. He published three extensive poems on the subjects of 'The Prodigal Son,' 'Christ's Sacrifice,' and 'Man.' The spirit of his poetry is well represented by such verses as these: __________________________________________________________________

[69]David Jones (of Treborth)
The Sacrifice wickedly slain
On Calvary one afternoon,
Did God for atonement ordain,
And He is well pleased in the Son:
His merit no language can tell,
The title of Godhead is His;
No praises can ever excel
The worth of a Saviour like this.
The earth is so little, beside
Creation's unmeasurèd reach--
A small speck of dust undescried,
A drop of the sea on the beach:
But Love wrought its victory here,
A conquest of glory supreme;
And Calvary's accent is clear
Through heaven in each rapturous theme.
Awake! it is time, oh! my soul,
Be strong to forget every pain;
The Church of all nations extol,
The praise of the Lamb that was slain:
The work is so vast in its plan,
Too few are the words of the earth,
Too feeble the talents of man,
To tell the Atonement's full worth.
The Feast of Atonement is nigh,
The world is to share in the feast--
Let all the bright stars of the sky
Be bells of fine gold for the Priest!
His praise let all powers make known--
'He reconciled us unto God!
The Aaron who died to atone,
He liveth, with glory endowed.'
Let all worlds in concert unite
To give the Redeemer His due,
Until their rejoicing delight
Th' eternal dominions of blue:
All space be an ocean of praise,
And waves of harmonious refrain
Surge back over infinite ways
To the shores of creation again!
Oh! sinner, hast thou not a voice
For Him who is Refuge alone!
The angels adoring rejoice
That He for us all did atone:
Their wonder they ever confess,
To think of His death in our room:
But is their astonishment less,
That man should keep silent and dumb?
Awake! to the Lamb be thy song!
Whose debt can be ever so great?
In singing His praises grow strong;
Begin,--'tis already so late!
The song of the white-wingèd quire
Is weak for that triumph of love:
Stand thou in thy part, and aspire
To add to the rapture above.
The angels in singing proclaim,
'Christ Jesus! our Wonder is He:'
But man has much more in the Name--
'Christ Jesus is Life unto me!'
They wonder to think of Him dead--
For thee did He journey that way:
The angels can call Him their Head--

'My Brother' canst thou to Him say? __________________________________________________________________

Roger Edwards

The REV. ROGER EDWARDS was born January 22, 1811, at Bala--a name associated for ever with some of the noblest and most romantic traditions of Methodist piety. He received a good education, and preached his first sermon on the verge of his twentieth year. In the year 1834 he settled at Mold, and there he remained till the end of his days. No one ever deserved a title better than he did that of 'Bishop of Flintshire,' given him by the unanimous voice of the people. His memory remains beloved in all the Churches. Possibly, however, in after years his name will be remembered more through his intimate connection with the rise of Welsh periodical literature, He settled at Mold for the purpose of editing one of the pioneer newspapers of the Principality. In 1846 he was appointed sole editor of Y Drysorfa, the monthly organ of the Calvinistic Methodists; and he held the appointment until his death. But perhaps still more important was his connection with the premier review of Wales--Y Traethodydd--started, in 1845, under the joint-editorship of himself and the late Dr. Edwards, of Bala. In 1840 he edited a denominational hymn-book, for which he wrote several hymns. He also published, in 1855, a volume of moral and sacred songs, which has passed into a second edition. Simple, chaste, and serious is the note of all he did. The first given is a song of early piety: __________________________________________________________________

[70]Roger Edwards
Dear is the advent of the spring,
With sunny smiles aglow;
When Nature leaves her languishing,
And all things beauteous grow.
Dear is the face of early rose
Where'er it first appears;
How fair its purple mantle shows,
Softened with dewy tears!
Dear is the plant that yields its spoil
The first of all the rest;
It pays for all the anxious toil,
And care itself is blest.
Dear is the innocent delight
Of lamb in gleesome play;
And sweet to hear the birds unite
In song at break of day.
But only some frail shadowing
Is all on earth we see;
Dearer than every joy of spring
Is early piety.
Oh! scene most fair--some glad young heart
Walking with Christ in light;
Thus earth and heaven take a part
In witnessing the sight.
The zeal that works with quiet rule,
Bright looks, affections warm,
Make him in God's work beautiful,
As morning's pleasant charm.
True piety in early days
Its joy through life supplies;
It brings its heir through all rough ways

To live in Paradise. __________________________________________________________________

[71]Roger Edwards
The next is a favourite Christmas hymn:
What is in Ephrata heard?
Angels bringing joyful word:
What new song of heaven have they?
Christ is born! is born to-day!
Haste to David's city, haste!
God is there made manifest;
See the King of glory, see,
Brother of us all is He!
Silent babe, what name has He?
Lord of all eternity:
What hath brought Him down so low?
Love for sinful man to show:--
Wings of tender mercies bright
Brought Him down from heaven's height;
Let the beauty of His praise
Ever be on all our days.
To the angels what is He?
Their high Prince of majesty;
What to us who sin and fall
He is Brother of us all:
Then if angel-harps be His,
What we owe much larger is:
Christ the Lord--He is our own!

Let the wide earth be His throne. __________________________________________________________________

Thomas Rees

The author of the History of Protestant Nonconformity in Wales is by no means an unknown name in England. The Rev. Dr. REES, of Swansea, was an interpreter of Welsh religious movements to his English brethren. He anxiously watched the growth of English speech in South Wales, and the large inflow of English people; he also saw how urgent it became to meet the new conditions. So he kept pleading for sympathy and help in a work that may well be called missionary; and he had the satisfaction of seeing his pleadings honoured, and a great movement inaugurated. He was born December 13, 1815, in the parish of Llanfynydd, Caermarthenshire, amid circumstances poor enough. His school-days were limited to one quarter; but, luckily--like many others who have become princes of the Welsh pulpit--he knew how to be his own teacher. As a boy he was put down as good-for-nothing; but the moment he found entrance into the pulpit his life-work was begun. He was abundant in labour, whether for the pulpit or for the press. He translated the commentary of Albert Barnes on the New Testament into Welsh; and in his latter years he published an edition of the Bible with devotional annotations. In 1884 he was elected chairman of the Congregational Union of England and Wales--the first Welsh minister to be so honoured. And his chairmanship was to be honoured of heaven; for a few days before the May meetings of 1885 had come he lay at rest. His address was ready, on 'The Power of the Pulpit;' but on the 29th of April God called him to join the congregation of the first-born, leaving the vacant chair for another to fill. He is doubly deserving of a place here--both for the hymns he wrote and for the affectionate care with which he has saved the scant history of several hymn-writers from being utterly forgotten. Several of his hymns were meant for harvest thanksgivings; and one of these is given below: __________________________________________________________________

[72]Thomas Rees
Let us thank the Lord together
For the mercies of His hand;
Once again the crown of plenty
Blesses all this happy land:
Gracious, are the Father's ways,
Let us bring Him comely praise.
Though our faults have cried in heaven
For His vengeance on our head,
Yet hath He preserved unbroken
For our good the staff of bread:
God of patience is He named,
Loud His praises be proclaimed!
Give us grace, Lord, in receiving
Bounteous gifts of Thy left hand,
Lest we may forget the riches
Of another, better land:
May each precious soul be fed

With the true and living Bread! __________________________________________________________________

[73]Thomas Rees

The truth of the following hymn is well illustrated in the author's own life, remembering his lowly beginning and the honoured end:

A pilgrim to the pleasant Land,
Oft hindered on the way,
I keep the path and trust my God--
For strength comes with the day.
Often have foes beset my soul,
Which would my faith betray;
But they have failed to lay me low--
For strength came with the day.
And should worse enemies arise
In pitiless array,
My way is forward, fearing nought--
For strength comes with the day.
When Death, the king of terrors, comes,
To break my tent of clay,
I shall not fear his ruthless arm--
For strength comes with the day.
When I shall stand on Canaan's hills,
In freedom's perfect way,
How sweet will be the joy of praise

For strength with every day! __________________________________________________________________