Then, in 1904, came the mighty Revival. It swept over the whole of Wales in an astonishingly short time, a movement of resistless, potent, cyclonic Divine power. By the end of 1905, it had spread, practically, over the whole of the religious world (especially in India was its influence and power felt); indeed, not even yet has its momentum in India ended, particularly on the hills of Khassia and Lushai. From many countries, notably from the United States of America, devout men and women came to Wales to see and participate in this mighty, transforming religious revolution. These people returned to their different countries, carrying with them some spark of the divine fire!

While the spiritual awakening under Harris and Rowland had depended very largely upon the power of preaching, in the Revival of 1904 — 1905, as in that of 1859, preaching was not by any means the only factor that counted. In 1859, it might be said that the Socratic method of question and answer was to the fore, for Dafydd Morgan did his most effective work, not in the pulpit, but on the floor of the chapel, after the sermon, when he questioned the people and analyzed their answers. In 1904, it was the thrilling singing of hymns that the Spirit of God used as a real transformative and regenerative power in the lives of countless thousands.

In Wales, preaching is a unique national institution. To the Welshman, a Preaching Meeting is what a horse race or a prize fight is to the Englishman with his almost fanatical interest in sport! The roughest and toughest characters in a neighborhood, men who are hardly ever sober, will be found slinking furtively into the last seat, some corner by the door, in the chapel, hoping that no-one will speak to them! And the next day, in the coal-mine or the next evening as they lean against the bar of the public-house (saloon) with their customary glass of ale in front of them, they will be found discussing the sermons and often doing that with much intelligence and ability. It is only fair to say that this kind of thing is on the wane; but there were many occasions in the past when the discussion of the sermon ended in a free fight with broken noses and black eyes as a result.

In this little land, it must be admitted that the somewhat sterner aspects of Puritanism have flourished, much to the detriment of a great deal that is artistic and beautiful; and moreover, to the detriment of some things that are of the very essence of the nature of the people as Celts. The Fathers of the Church, in Wales, have invariably looked askance at the theater and the playhouse and the opera house, if they ever heard of the latter! As a matter of fact, the people of Wales are only just beginning to create and produce plays and playwrights. But a people so emotionally and dramatically and culturally endowed were bound to find a vent for these characteristics that are possessed by them in such a marked degree; and they found it in the preacher and in the pulpit. So, in a very real sense, the pulpit became the orchestra, the stage, the platform, and the lecture-desk, where the charm of music and the deep stirrings of drama and tragedy and acting were looked for and found in the preacher.

Welsh preaching has one feature or peculiarity that is not found in any other kind of preaching anywhere in the world. (Some aspects of Negro preaching come near it.) It is called the “hwyl.”

“Hwyl” is the Welsh word for sail. The figure is that of a ship being borne along over the billowy waves with the breezes filling out her sails. As the sailor spreads the sails of the vessel and has very little more to do, so the preacher sets his spirit, as it were, in the pathway of the divine breezes, and when his spirit is in harmony with the Eternal Spirit, as happens on rare occasions, then strange and wonderful things take place.

The preacher begins his sermon, speaking slowly and generally using the lower tones of his voice; often, there is a little hesitation here and there, as though he were thinking his thoughts for the first time. That is really an unconscious, traditional, dramatic touch, and is used, probably, to create expectation in the listener. By and by, a warmth enters into the preacher’s voice and he will be speaking a tone or two higher than he was at the beginning. As he proceeds, the winds of heaven begin to fill his sails and the voice gains in intensity and power . . . on he goes with occasional eloquent pauses . . . perhaps there will be a sudden shout that shakes the hearers out of all listlessness, as he thunders against some evil or other.

Anon, there will be a wooing note of unspeakable tenderness — A the preacher’s spirit seems to be bathed in the awful pathos of the Garden and the Cross; and then, imperceptibly as it were, it will be seen that the preacher is speaking in a strange, weird, curious mesmeric manner: it is a unique kind of incantation, thoroughly musical, and at times, it resembles an ancient chant . . . it is the Welsh “hwyl” in its rare beauty and grandeur. It is not something that can be taught; a preacher has it or he has it not, and woe betide the preacher who attempts to manufacture it artificially! In this matter it is impossible to deceive a congregation and a preacher who tries to make the “hwyl” will be set down as insincere and as a mere actor and not a prophet of God. Indeed, the “hwyl” is found as frequently among laymen who participate in religious services, as it is among preachers, and when this unique phenomenon happens naturally (and it must happen in that way or it is not present at all), it is in perfect tune with the words and ideas of the message. In this way, as well as through the singing of the great Welsh hymns; the profoundest ethical, moral, and spiritual truths sing themselves into the minds and hearts and consciences and lives of the people.