Goleuni Caersalem   |   The Light of Jerusalem

Mae dynion wrth naturiaeth
    yn llawn o lygredd câs,
Ar lawr yn ddiymgeledd,
    yn gorwedd ar y ma's;
  Mae'n natur yn llygredig,
      o'n coryn hyd ein traed,
  Nid oes a'n canna'n beraidd
      ond rhinwedd maith y gwaed.

Draw yn Eden coll'som goron,
    a bendithion aml ryw,
Coll'som bob cymhwysder addas,
    i gymdeithas bur a Duw;
  Coll'som gymmod, coll'som berlau,
      a rhinweddau maith eu rhi',
  Ond fe gawd rhagrach perlau
      y'ngriddfanau Calfari.

Dan greulon gloion angeu,
    rhaid gorwedd yn y pridd,
Yn isel yn y gravel
    hyd adgyfodiad ddydd;
  Ac yna câf gyfodi,
      dan ganu, yn hardd fy ngwędd,
  Ar ddelw'r Gwr sy'n cadw
      agoriad pyrth y bedd.

Gan farw rhaid i'n farw,
    a myn'd i byrth y bedd,
Cawn orwedd yno'n dawel,
    heb ryfel, ond mewn hedd:
  Ond fe daw'r dydd cawn godi
      ar ddelw'r Iesu gwyn,
  A chanu mewn gogoniant,
      am haeddiant pen y bryn.

Er cymmaint yw'n tlodi
    a'n holl drueni trist,
Mae myrdd o faith drysorau
    yn angeu Iesu Grist:
  Gwneir myrdd o rai tlodion
      yn gyfoethogion iawn,
  Trwy angeu'r Gwr fu'n gwaedu
      ar Galfari brydnawn.

'Ry'n ni yma oll yn gleifion,
    llawn archollion o bob rhyw,
Llawn o blâ, a llawn o nychdod,
    llawn o bechod dû ei liw;
  Llawn o ddolur bob munudyn,
      oll o'n coryn hyd ein traed,
  Ac nid oes a wella'n clwyfau,
      ond rhinweddau maith y gwaed.

O'r fath gyflwr trist, gresynol,
    y mae myrdd o ddynol-ryw!
Yn ymdd'rysu mewn tywyllwch,
    ac anialwch maith yn byw:
  Iesu hawddgar, dyro oleu,
      mewn eneidiau yn y wlad,
  I fynegu rhyfeddodau
      a rhinweddau maith y gwa'd.

Mewn carcharau, mewn cadwynau,
    â phedewau dyfnion iawn,
Bu'n heneidiau rai blynyddau,
    heb ddim goleu, ac heb ddawn:
  Ond er cryfed oedd y carchar,
      ac er tywylled oedd y nôs,
  Drylliwyd barau'n hên garcharau,
      trwy rinweddau gwaed y gro's.

Y mae'n traed ni wrth naturiaeth,
Oll ar ddibyn trangcedigaeth,
  Bron a syrthio ar lithrigfa;
  Clod i Dduw am waed i'n dala.

Y mae'n cyflwr yn annuwiol,
    dan gondemniol farn y ddeddf;
Mewn pechodau oll yn farwol,
    heb sancteiddiol ddwyfol reddf:
  Fe ddaw dydd y dienyddiad,
      colli'r ninnau'n ddinacâd,
  Os na chawn ni faddeu'n beiau
      trwy rinweddau maith y gwa'd.

Mae digofaint mawr annhraethol,
'Nawr ar ddal y rhai annuwiol;
  Ac ni oes modd i gael diangfa,
  Ond trwy aberth pen Calfaria.

'Rwy'n haeddu gwg y Duwdod,
    a thrallod, poen, a gwae,
Mewn dygn fôr o ddychryn,
    heb derfyn, ac heb drai;
  Ac nid oes modd i ddiangc,
      rhag bythol ddidrangc loes,
  Ond trwy rinweddau aberth
      y Gwr fu ar y groes.

Men by nature are
    full of detestable corruption,
On the earth helpless,
    lying on the field;
  Our nature is corrupt,
      from our crown to our feet,
  There is nothing can bleach us fragrant
      but the vast virtue of the blood.

Yonder in Eden we had lost a crown,
    and blessings of many a kind,
We lost every worthy qualification,
    to the pure fellowship with God;
  We lost a covenant, we lost pearls,
      and virtues vast in number,
  But more pearls were got
      in the groans of Calvary.

Under the cruel locks of death,
    one must lie in the soil,
Low in the gravel
    until resurrection day;
  And then get to rise,
      while singing, beautiful my countenance,
  In the image of the Man who is keeping
      the key of the portals of the grave.

By dying we must die,
    and go to the portals of the grave,
We may get to lie there quietly,
    without war, but in peace;
  But the day will come we may get to rise
      in the image of blessed Jesus,
  And sing in glory,
      about the merits of the head of the hill.

Despite how great is our poverty
    and all our sad misery,
There is a myriad of vast treasures
    in the death of Jesus Christ:
  A myriad of poor ones are to be made
      very rich,
  Through the death of the Man who was bleeding
      on Calvary one afternoon.

We are here all wounded,
    full of injuries of every kind,
Full of plague, and full of ailing,
    full of sin black its colour;
  Full of sorrow every minute,
      all from our crown to our feet,
  And there is nothing that heals our wounds,
      but the vast merits of the blood.

Of what a sad, miserable condition,
    are a myriad of human-kind!
Bewildered in darkness,
    and in a vast desert living:
  Beautiful Jesus, give light,
      in souls in the land,
  To express the wonders
      of the vast merits of the blood.

In prisons, in chains,
    with very deep pits,
Our souls were for some years,
    without any light, and without ability:
  But despite how strong was the prison,
      and despite how dark was the night,
  The bars of our old prisons were shattered,
      through the merits of the blood of the cross.

Our feet are by nature,
All on the precipice of dying,
  Almost falling on a slippery slope;
  Praise to God for blood to hold us.

Our condition is ungodly,
    under the condemnatory judgment of the law;
In sins all mortal,
    without a holy, divine disposition:
  The day of execution shall come,
      the losing of us inexhaustibly,
  If we do not get the forgiveness of our sins
      through the vast merits of the blood.

The great, inexpressible wrath is
Now about to sieze the ungodly ones;
  And there is no means to get an escape,
  But throug the sacrifice of the head of Calvary.

I am deserving of the from of the Godhead,
    and affliction, pain, a woe,
In an intense sea of terror,
    without end, and without ebbing;
  And there is no means to escape,
      from eternal, undying anguish,
  But through the merits of the sacrifice
      of the Man who was on the cross.