Dim ond y dail wrth weled hyn

Dim ond y dail! Wrth weled hyn
  Yn drist mae Ysbryd Duw:
Yr addunedau roed dan draed,
Er pob gwrteithio, dim ni chaed,
  Ar derfyn einioes wyw -
Dim ond y dail,
    dim ond y dail!

Dim ond y ddail! Nid aeddfed ffrwyth
  A rawn a geir o'r had;
Ni ddaw ond chwyn ac efrau'n llawn;
Nid gwaith, ond geiriau gweigion gawn, -
  Cynhauaf heb fwynhad.
Dim ond y dail!
    dim ond y dail!

Dim ond y dail! Ni chaiff y cof
  Dim cuddio einioes wael;
Wrth droi yn ol, a chofio'r daith,
Pob ofer awr, pob dydd di-waith,
  Mor drwm, mor drist fydd cael -
Dim on y dail!
    dim ond y dail!

Dim ond y dail yn nydd y farn -
  Y dydd ofnadwy iawn!
Ah! pwy wrth draed y Ceidwad mawr,
O flaen yr orsedd, rydd i lawr,
  Yn lle ysgubau grawn -
Dim ond y dail!
    dim on y dail!

Nothing but leaves! On seeing his
  Sad is the Spirit of God:
The vows put under foot,
Despite all cultivating, nothing is got,
  At the end of a wizened lifetime -
Nothing but the leaves,
    nothing but the leaves!

Nothing but leaves! Not matured fruit
  And grain are to be got from the seed;
Nothing comes but weeds and full darnel;
Not work, but empty words we get, -
  A harvest without enjoyment.
Nothing but the leaves,
    nothing but the leaves!

Nothing but leaves! The memory will not get
  To hide at all a poor lifetime;
On turning back, and remembering the journey,
Every useless hour, every workless day,
  How heavy, how sad it will be to get -
Nothing but the leaves,
    nothing but the leaves!

Nothing but leaves in the day of judgment -
  The very terrible day!
Ah! who at the feet of the great Saviour,
Before the throne, will put down,
  Instead of sheaves of grain -
Nothing but the leaves,
    nothing but the leaves?

Nothing but leaves! The Spirit grieves
  O'er years of wasted life;
O'er sins indulged while conscience slept,
O'er vows and promises unkept,
  And reap, from years of strife -
Nothing but leaves!
    Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves! No gathered sheaves
  Of life's fair rip'ning grain:
We sow our seeds; lo! tares and weeds,
Words, idle words, for earnest deeds -
  Then reap, with toil and pain,
Nothing but leaves!
    Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves! Sad mem'ry weaves
  No veil to hide the past;
And as we trace our weary way,
And count each lost and misspent day,
  We sadly find at last -
Nothing but leaves!
    Nothing but leaves!

Ah, who shall thus the Master meet,
  And bring but withered leaves?
Ah, who shall, at the Saviour's feet,
Before the awful judgment seat,
  Lay down, for golden sheaves,
Nothing but leaves!
    Nothing but leaves!