Yr Awen

Pan luniodd Naf â'i law,
    ddyn draw yn hardd ei drefn,
Lân Dduw cyflawnodd ef
    â chyfoeth nef drachefn;
  Cynneddfau deddfol da,
      ei ddelw a phob rhyw ddawn;
  Un prydferth Wr o'r pridd,
      yn Llywydd y byd llawn!

Ac o anrhydedd rhad
    y Tad, coronwyd dyn
A bywiol awen bêr,
    i ganmol Ner ei Gun:
  A rhyfedd ydyw'n rhan,
       lin egwan, gwael yn awr,
  Mae'n alwad arnom ni,
       i foli Duw mor fawr.

Pob cywrain offer cerdd
    ar ddaear werdd erioed,
Pob gwaith dychymyg wiw
    gan ddyn o unrhyw oed,
  Er mwyned rhed drwy'r rhai'n
      wiw beraidd sain bob un
  Melusach tannau cnawd,
      awenwawd tafawd dyn.

Yr awen anwyl rodd
    a gafodd dyn yn gu,
Sy' megys adsain mawl,
    neu lais y nefawl lu;
  Rhagora'r doniau i gyd,
      ddawn hyfryd ynddi'i hun,
  Y mae ei hodlau hi
      yn toddi enaid dyn.

Iawn byncio hon y bwyf,
    o hyd tra byddwyf byw,
Offrymu moliant ffraeth
    am ichawdwriaeth Duw,
  Fy llais, fy nghais yn nghyd
      â'r Salmydd gyda sel,
  I g'weirio'r newydd gân
      yn ddyddan doed a ddel.

Er trallod lawer tro,
    i Silo boed fy sain,
Mal Eös miwail wau,
    pan dreiddio pigau'r drain:
  Yn hyfryd ar ol hyn
      ceir esgyn uwch y rhod
  I fryniau'r nefoedd fry,
      heb waith ond canu'n bod.

When the Lord designed with his hand,
    yonder man beautifully arranged,
Holy God fulfilled him
      with the wealth of heaven again;
  Good lawful faculties,
      his image and every kind of talent;
  One beautiful Man from the soil,
      as a governor of the full earth!

And from the gracious honour
    of the Father, man was crowned
With a lively sweet muse,
    to extol the Lord his Chief:
  And wonderful is our portion,
      a weak lineage, poor now,
  Our calling is upon us
      to prose God so great.

Every intricate instrument of music
    ever on the green earth,
Every worthy imaginative work
    by man of any age,
  Although going running through them
      as a worthy sweet sound every one
  Sweeter strings of flesh,
      the poesy of the tongue of man.

The muse, a beloved gift,
    that man found dear.
Which is like the echo of praise,
    or the voice of the heavenly host;
  It surpasses all the gifts,
      a delightful talent in itself,
  It's verses are
      melting the soul of man.

Truly pick out this tune I shall,
    always while ever I am living,
Offer enthusiastic praise
    for the salvation of God,
  My voice, my request together
      with the Psalmist with zeal,
  To tune the new song
      cheeringly come what may.

Despite trouble many a time,
    to Shiloh may my sound come,
As the gentle nightingale weaves,
    when penetrating the thorns' spikes:
  Delightfully after this
      I may ascend above the sky
  To the hills of heaven above,
      where no work but singing be.