Ar ryfedd daith flinedig faith

Ar ryfedd daith flinedig, faith
Bu Mair a Joseff, trist yw'r ffaith,
  Cyn gweled Bethlem dref;
Mynd heibio iddynt wnâi y llu
Heb ystyr fod y ddeuddyn cu
  Ar neges dros y nef,
Ac oerach na'r iâ ar
    y palmant fu'r gair:
'Dim lle yn y llety
    i Joseff a Mair.'

Dolefai'r gwynt o lwyn i lwyn
Tra Mair mewn ing
    sibrydai’i chŵyn
  Yn ddistaw wrth y nos;
Yn sŵn gorfoledd tyrfa fawr
Ei grudd oedd laith gan ddagrau nawr
  Fel grudd y lili dlos;
Y gair a glybuwyd dywyllodd yr aer:
'Dim lle yn y llety
    i Joseff a Mair.'

Agorwyd drws y preseb tlawd
I Mair a Joseff, ddrwg ei ffawd,
  A'r nos yn duo'r nef,
Ac yno mewn tawelwch trist
A thlodi, ganwyd Iesu Crist
  Tu fas i rwysg y dref;
Sisialai yr awel rhwng
    cangau yr yw:
'Dim lle yn y llety
    i Iesu Fab Duw.'

Mae'r byd mewn gorymdeithiau fyrdd
Yn dringo hyd drofaog ffyrdd
  I wyliau clod a bri;
Ni sylwa ar gardotyn llwm
Yn gam ei gefn o gwm i gwm,
  Ni chlyw ei ingol gri,
Cau drws ar y truan
    wna balchder y byd:
'Dim lle yn y llety i'r Iesu o hyd.'

On a strange, weary, long journey
Were Mary and Joseph, sad is the fact,
  Before seeing Bethlehem town;
Going past them were the throng
Without considering that the dear pair
  Were on a message for heaven,
And colder than the ice on
    the pavement was the word:
'No room in the lodgings
    for Joseph and Mary.'

The wind moaned from grove to grove
While Mary in anguish
    whispered her complaint
  Quietly to the night;
In the sound of great crowd's rejoicing
Her cheek was wet from tears now
  Like the cheek of the pretty lily;
The word that was heard darkened the air:
'No room in the lodgings
    for Joseph and Mary.'

The door of the poor manger was opened
To Mary and Joseph, bad luck,
  And the night blackening heaven,
And there in sad quietness
And poverty, Jesus Christ was born
  Outside the ostentation of the town;
The breeze murmured between
    the branches of the yew:
'No room in the lodgings
    for Jesus the Son of God.'

The world is in a myriad of processions
Climbing along winding roads
  To festivals of acclaim and renown;
It does not notice the naked beggar
With a crooked back from valley to valley,
  It does not hear his anguished cry,
Close a door on the wretch
    does the pride of the world:
'No room in the lodgings for Jesus still.'