Deffro lên fy awenydd

Deffro lên fy awenydd,
O'th gysgfa, rho redfa rŷdd;
  I chwilio, trwy wych helynt,
  P'le'r oedd sêdd digonedd gynt,
A ph'le'n awr, hoff lun eres,
Mae ei thrigfan, loyw-lân lês.

Dynion sy'n ymledanu
Tros wledydd, aflonydd lu;
  Am ddigawn i'w chwyrn-lawn chwant,
  Garw ei flas, y gor-flysiant:
Rhai am barch, ar bob archiad,
Gwawr dewr lwydd, a geirda'r wlad:
  Eraill am gyfoeth iraidd,
  Yn gyflym eu rym, o'u gwraidd:
Rhai am diroedd yn bloeddiaw,
Taer eu byd yn tyrru baw:
  Er medd llawnder modd-wych,
  Llwyn o wae, nid llai eu nych.

P'le ceir llawn ddigawn o dda,
I ddynyn a'i meddianna?

Heb Dduw Nêr, yn llawnder llon,
(Dwys degwch) nid oes digon:
  Gyd ag ef, trwy wir grefydd,
  Dïogan sail, digon sydd;
Digon i fyw, deg iawn fodd;
Hefyd i farw o hy-fodd.
  Duw a thameid, wrth reidiau,
  O fara sych, 'wna frasâu:
A'i meddo ef mewn modd iach,
Er tlodi a hurt ledach,
  Enwog, gyfoethog, a fydd,
  Drwy gu-waith, yn drgywydd:
Er croesau, neu donnau dig,
Er iasau o ryw ysig;
  Er i'r corph gael ei orphen,
  A'i droi o'r byd, drwy awr ben,
I fraenau, o'i fyw rinwedd,
(Gwâl di-barch yw gwaelod bedd)
  Er hyn oll ef ni's colla,
  O rîn ei Dduw, a'i ran dda:
Ei enaid, i'w goflaid gu,
Iôn fyn ei ddŵyn i fynu;
  A'i lwch o'r bedd, i hedd hael,
  A gyfyd ef mewn gafael,
I fod byth, â dilyth dôn,
Mewn dwgwch, draw mewn digon.

Wynebwn i'w adnabod,
Yn Dduw i ni, lawn-dda nôd;
  Felly'n rhwydd cawn y llwydd llon,
  Da degwch, "Duw a digon."

Awaken, sheet of my poet,
From thy sleeping-place, give a free run;
  To search, through a brilliant course,
  Where was the the seat of sufficiency once,
And where now, dear wonderful picture,
Is its dwelling-place, of bright-clean lace.

Men who are spreading
Across lands, a restless host;
  For sufficient for their rapidly-full lust,
  Rough its taste, they over-gratify:
Some for reverence, at every bidding,
The grey, brave dawn, and good word of the country:
  Others for fresh wealth,
  Fast their force, from their root:
Some for lands shouting,
Insistent their world piling muck:
  In order to possess the fulness of brilliant pleasure,
  A grove of woe, no less their grief.

Where is to be got a full sufficiency of stock,
For an individual man to possess?

Without God the Lord, as a cheerful fullness,
(Intense fairness) there is not enough:
  With him, through true belief,
  A basis without reproach, which is enough:
Enough to live, very fair pleasure;
Also to die from proud pleasure.
  God and a morsel, by necessities,
  Of dry bread, will make fatnesses:
And to possess him in a healthy way,
Despite poverty and stupid base lineage,
  Famous, wealthy, shall be,
  Through dear-work, in eternity:
Despite crosses, or angry waves,
Despite pangs of some wounded;
  Although the body get finished,
  And turned from the world, through a final hour,
To fallow lands, from its living merit,
(A dishonourable bed in the bottom of a grave)
  Despite all this he shall not lose,
  From the merit of his God, and his good portion:
His soul, to his dear embrace,
The Lord shall insist on bringing up;
  And his dust from the grave, to a generous peace,
  He shall raise with a grasp,
To be forever, with an unfailing tune,
In fairness, yonder in sufficiency.

Let us face him to recognise him,
As God to us, a fully-good aim;
  Thus freely we will get the cheerful prosperity,
  Good fairness, "God shall suffice."