Brechva's Harp Song

Little harp, at thy cry,
He shall come in good time;
And thy sword-song on high,
High shall chime.

Little harp, in his brain
Is the fire; in his hand
Are the sword and the rein
Of command.

Little harp, like the wind
Is his strength; like thy song
Are his words, to unbind
Wales ere long!

Little harp, if his name
Be unknown, ye shall hear
How the stars tell his fame
Far and near.

Little harp, if unknown
He come, ye shall sing
When Eryri shall throne
Him All King!