Am Angau

O Angau cas, arswydo 'rwyf,
  Y dost, pan gofiwyf di;
Os bydd euogrwydd yn ddi-baid
  Yn dal fy enaid i:
O! 'r meddwl poenus, aethus yw,
  'Nol digio Duw, fod angau'n d'od!
Ac wedi'm dwyn i'w garchar du,
  Fod dydd i'm barnu'n bod!

Yn nghanol pleser pena'r byd,
  A'r hawddfyd mwyaf rhydd,
Pan gofiwf angau, siwrnau syn,
  Drwy f'enaid dychryn fydd:
Pe cesglid moethau at fy mîn,
Ofalus waith, neu felus win,
Y cwbwl a ddiflasai'n flin,
  Yn angau, brenin braw.

Pe byddwn frenin uchel fryd;
  Ar Europe hyfryd ran;
A chael o Dywysogion fîl,
  I f'ymyl yn y fan,
A phob cerddoriaeth mwyaf pêr,
Mewn dynol sain, o dan y sêr,
Mi a ddiflanwn yn aflêr,
  Heb wreiddyn matter mwy.

Pe bawn y glanaf ar y Glôb,
  A'r dewraf yn mhob dim;
A mwy nâ'r mwyaf yn y byd;
  Rhôi angau ergyd im'
A drôi'r melusder
    pena' 'n bod
  Fel chwerw wermod ar un waith:
Gan hyny gwell im' Grist
    a'i groes,
  Ni phery f'oes yn faith.

Pe byddai'r byd i gyd i'w gael,
  Mewn gafael im' heb goll;
Ni chawn mo hwn i'w hir fwynhau;
  Fe ddygai angau oll:
Gan hyny pobl Dduw o hyd
  Wy' 'n ddewis yn y byd tra bwy';
A dirmyg Crist
    yn fwy na'r byd
  Tra par'o mywyd mwy.

Ond am fforddolion Sion, sydd
  Ar daith i fynydd Duw,
Er bod dan Sinai lawer tro,
  Bron anobeithio byw;
'D oes neb o'r rhei'ny heb eu rhan,
Dïogel Wr, a'u dwg i'r lan;
Crist yn eu meddiant yn mhob man,
  Sy'n fwy nâ chyfan fyd.

Mae gan y Cristion ffon ddi-ffael,
  A'i deil ar drafael drist;
A'i bwys ar honno, weithiau rhêd,
  Pan grêd fod ganddo Grist:
Nid ofna'r glyn,
    neu'r dyffryn du,
Sef angau digllon creulon cry';
Fe ŵyr na fedd
    mo'r colyn fu
  Yn ei frawychu ef.

Gan hyny gwell gan ambell un
  Gael Crist ein hun a'i hedd,
Pe caem ond gorthrymderau i gyd,
  Drwy'n bywyd hyd y bedd:
Gwell dioddef gwawd
    er mwyn y gwir,
Ni phery hyny ddim yn hir;
Mae pen y daith Paradwys dir
  Yn sicr yn nesâu.

O detestable Death, horrified I am,
  At the pain, when I remember thee;
If guilt shall be unceasingly
  Holding my soul:
O the painful thought, grievous it is,
  After angering God, that death is coming!
And after taking me to the black prison,
  That a day for judging me is coming!

In the midst of the world's chief pleasure,
  And the most liberal ease,
When I remember death, a startling journey,
  Through my soul horror shall be:
If luxuries were gathered to my lip,
Careful work, or sweet wine,
The whole would grievously cease to appeal,
  In death, the king of terror.

If I were a king of high intent;
  Over a delightful portion of Europe;
And got a thousand princes,
  To my side immediately,
And all the most sweet music,
In human sound, under the stars,
I would vanish in disorder,
  With no more root of the matter.

If I were the cleanest on the globe,
  And the bravest in everything;
And more than the greatest in the world;
  Death would give a blow to me
And would turn the chief
    sweetness there is
  Like bitter wormwood at once:
Therefore, better for me Christ
    and his cross,
  My life shall not last long.

If all the world were to be had,
  Within my reach without loss;
I would not get to enjoy it for long;
  Death would take everything:
Therefore God's people always
  I am choosing in the world while I live;
And the scorn of Christ
    as greater than the world
  While ever my life endures.

But for the wayfarers of Zion, who are
  On a journey to the mountain of God,
Although being under Sinai many a time,
  Almost despairing of living;
None of those are without their portion,
  A steadfast Man, who will lead them up;
Christ as their possession in every place,
  Who is greater than the whole world.

The Christian has an unfailing staff,
  That will hold him on a sad journey;
Leaning on this, sometimes he runs,
  When he believes that he has Christ:
He will not fear the vale,
    or the black valley,
That is cheerless, cruel, strong death;
He knows that it does not possess
    the sting that was
  Frightening him.

Therefore some prefer
  To have Christ himself and his peace,
If we had but all oppressions,
  Throughout our life until the grave:
Better to suffer ridicule
    for the truth's sake,
That shall not last long;
The destination of the land of Paradise
  Is surely drawing near.