Sermon Preached in the Holy Trinity Cathedral by Dean Trivett on January Trxr—"It is a land of hills and valleys, and dr n water of the rain of heaven: a land +ohich the Lord thy God care th for: are always upon it, from the beginning of the year even year." Dent. 1, 11-12. eyes of the Lord til the end of the AM conscious that it is a daring thing I att this evening in speaking to Welshmen about their country Saint, and I ask for their forbearance and forgi may suggest memories that will be more valu their Patron 3 and trust I han any information I may bring.
I have been told it is Ountains you think when you remember Wales.
"Tt is a land o. nis and valleys, and drinketh water of the rain of the earth."
A great traveller and one of the fest descriptive writers of our age kas said: "If you were to ask me to pick one view which sums up Wales, would take you to a high wall above the sea near Harlech and ask you to look north to Snowdon. It is one of those unforgetable landscapes which print themselves forever on the mind; it is a memory of home which must have pained and consoled countless Welshmen and Welsh-women in every part of the world, A wide half moon of bright sand sweeps in a huge curve for miles. The waves come on slowly in great semicircles to turn over in white foam on the sand. On the extreme right Harlech Castle rises on a stern outcrop of rock, the most defiantly placed of all the Welsh castles. A ruin that might spring to life at the sound of a trumpet. A castle that seems still to remember the whistle Of arrows, and the movement of lances against the sky; a stronghold, whose very silence seems to whisper of heroic days. Far below is a green vale that was once the sea. Miles away, hung up like a green screen in the North are the mountains of Snowdonia. Snowdon itself stands clear against the sky, while the lower hills fold themselves in long curves at its feet, a lighter blue. And away to the East and West rise two secondary peaks, which lift. themselves above the valleys, as if cut in blue velvet. To a Welshman it must seem like a motional anthem. In those blue hills the Welsh spirit hid itself, suffered, strove, and survived."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.