![Image](https://i.imgur.com/qQcGRqkl.jpg)
The Welsh
There is a people who sing
Singly and in masses;
By broken mountain streams,
In the black brilliance of a mine,
In Chapel and in Pub.
Alien countries hear
Their lyrical lilt give
Melody to gutteral tongues.
The best, the worst, they are there,
Producing saint and sinner.
The generations gone,
The present, those to come,
Linked by the music of the singing people.