Serch hudol swyn

Serch hudol swyn,
Sy'n llanw'r llwyn,
Pan fo myrdd o adar mwyn,
  Yn canu yn y coed.
Mae anian oll yn canu 'nghyd,
'Does dim yn fyddar nac yn fud,
Mae mwy o fiwsig yn y byd,
  Na thybiodd dyn erioed:

Corau'r Wynfa wen,
A ganant byth heb ddôd i ben,
Mae'r delyn aur gan deulu'r nen,
  Yng ngwyddfod Duw ei hun!
Mae cân yn hedeg ar ei hynt,
Yn sŵn y môr
    a llais y gwynt,
Bu sêr yn bore'n canu gynt,
  Paham na chana dyn?

Serch hudol yw,
Pob peth sy'n byw,
Yn y nef a daear Duw:
  O'r haul sy'n llosgi fry,
I'r pryfyn tân, yr hwn a roed,
I rodio'r clawdd a gwraidd y coed,
I olau ar y llwybr troed,
  Sy'n arwain i dy dŷ.

Hardd yw llun a lliw,
Pob peth a ddaeth o ddwylo Duw,
I b'le'r â llygad dyn
    nad yw,
  Yng ngŵydd
      y tlws a'r cain?
Prydferthwch sydd yn llanw'r nef,
A phob crëadur grëodd Ef,
O'r eryr ar ei aden gref,
  I'r dryw sydd yn y drain!

Passion of enchanting charm,
Is flooding the grove,
When there be a myriad of gentle birds,
  Singing in the wood.
All nature is singing together,
Nothing is deaf or mute,
There is more music in the world,
  Than man ever supposed:

The choirs of bright Bliss,
Shall sing forever without coming to an end,
The golden harp the family of the sky have,
  In the presence of God himself!
There is a song flying on its course,
In the sound of the sea
    and the voice of the wind,
The stars in the morning were singing before,
  Why will man not sing?

Enchanting passion is,
Everything that is living,
In the heaven and earth of God:
  From the sun which is burning above,
To the glow-worm, who was given,
To wander the bank and the root of the trees,
For light on the footpath,
  Which leads to thy house.

Beautiful is the picture and colour,
Of everything that comes from God's hands,
Where shall the eye of man go,
    that there is not
  In his presence,
      the pretty and the intricate?
Beauty is flooding heaven,
And every creature He created,
From the eagle on his strong wing,
  To the wren which is in the thorn!