Duw fel afon y dylifa

Duw, fel afon y dylifa
Dy fendithion, rhoddion rhwydda',
  I dy ddeiliaid, waith dy ddwylo,
  Ar y tir sydd yma'n tario.

Y mae'n perthyn am ein porthiant
Iti felus gerdd o foliant;
  Mae in' achos am ein hiechyd
  Foli Duw, a'i ofal diwyd.

Ar ein dwylo nid oes daliad,
Duw Ior goreu, am dy gariad;
  Boed yn làn y gân o'n genau,
  Yn dy byrth
      yn iawn aberthau.

Dad yr uniawn, dy dirionwch
Etto welom, er tawelwch,
  Ar ein taith trwy fywyd anghall
  O waelderau, i wlad arall.

Neu os rhaid i ni fydd rhodio
Llwybrau gofid, par in' gofio
  Yr wialen pwy reola,
  Er daioni, pan bo'i dynna'.

Oll o'n dyddiau, pan ddiweddant
Fry i gaerau, manau'r mwyniant,
  Cymmer ni yn iach a llawen,
  Duw'n da awdwr, dan dy aden.

Duw, fel afon y dylifa
Dy fendithion, rhoddion rhwydda;
  Ac mae'n perthyn am ein porthiant,
  Iti felus gerdd o foliant.

Wiwgu Ior, am oll o'th gariad,
Ar ein dwylaw nid oes daliad,
  Boed yn làn y gân o'n genau,
  Yn dy byrth
      yn iawn aberthau.

Ac o'n dyddiau, pan ddiweddant
Fry i gaerau
    manau'r mwyniant,
  Cymmer ni yn iach a llawen,
  Duw'n da awdwr, dan dy aden.

God, like a river, who pourest out
Thy blessings, most ready gifts,
  To thy tenants, the work of thy hands,
  On the land which is here tarrying.

Belonging to thee for our feeding
Is the sweet music of praise;
  We have a cause for our health
  To praise God, and his devoted care.

On our hands there is no payment,
God the best Lord, for thy love;
  May the song be pure from our mouth,
  In thy portals
      in the satisfaction of sacrifices.

Father of the upright, thy tenderness
Still we see, for the sake of quietness,
  On our journey through a foolish life
  From vilenesses, to another land.

Or if it be necessary for us to wander
The paths of grief, cause us to remember
  The rod who rules it,
  For goodness, when it be take out.

All of our days, when they end
Above to fortresses, places of the enjoyment,
  Take us whole and joyful,
  God our good author, under thy wings.

God, who like a river, pourest out
Thy blessings, ready gifts;
  And belonging for our feeding, is
  To thee the sweet music of praise.

Dear, worthy Lord, for all of thy love,
On our hands the is no payment,
  May the song be pure from our mouth,
  In thy portals
      in the satisfaction of sacrifices.

And of our days, when they end
Up to the fortresses
    of the places of enjoyment,
  Take us whole and joyful,
  God our good author, under thy wings.