Duw fel 'rwy'n hoffi'th gyfraith bur

Duw, fel 'rwy'n hoffi'th gyfraith bur,
  Bob dydd mae'n ddifyr gen'i;
Ac wrth fyfyrio ynddi'r nos,
  Mae'n dangos addysg imi.

Fy llygaid sy'n rhagflaenu'r dydd,
  Yn d'air 'rwy'n prudd fyfyrio;
Gan flys y tawdd fy enaid cul,
  Am wrando'th 'fengyl etto.

Dy air a'm cadarnha'n fy nhaith,
  A dyd ar waith fy nhafod;
Yn hwy caf nefol ganiad per,
  Trwy 'mhoenus bererindod.

Ai gartref wyf, neu bell o dref,
  Fy ngwledd yw ef bob amser;
Dyferiad diliau mêl nid yw,
  Yn rhoi'r un rhyw felysder.

Mae'n cyfoethogi meddwl dyn
  Uwchlaw un trysor allan;
Am hyn ni werthwn i mo'th air,
  Er mil o aur ac arian.

Pan syrthio cnawd ac ysbryd 'lawr,
  Dy werthfawr addewidion
Sy fel colofnau'n dàl i'r làn
  Fy ngobaith gwàn a'm calon.

Pan lanwer f'ysbryd i â'th air,
  Mor llon y cair fi wedi'n!
Nid gwŷr fo'n rhanu'r yspail sydd
  A'r fath lawenydd ganddyn'.

God, how I am fond of thy pure law,
  Every day it is my delight;
And by meditating in it by night,
  It shows teaching to me.

My eyes are anticipating the day,
  In thy word I am sadly meditating;
With an appetite my lean soul melts,
  To listen to the gospel again.

Thy word will establish my journey,
  And put my tongue to work;
Later I will get a sweet, heavenly song,
  Through my painful pilgrimage.

Whether at home I am, or far from home,
  My feast is he every time;
The dripping of honey combs is not
  Giving the same kind of sweetness.

It is enriching the thought of man
  Above any other treasure;
Therefore I would not sell thy word,
  For thousands of gold and silver.

When flesh and spirit fall down,
  Thy precious promises
Are like pillars which hold up
  My weak hope and my heart.

When my spirit is filled with thy word,
  How cheerful I get then!
Men who are sharing the spoil are not
  Having such joy.

O how I love Thy holy law!
  'Tis daily my delight;
And thence my meditations draw
  Divine advice by night.

My waking eyes prevent the day
  To meditate Thy Word;
My soul with longing melts away
  To hear Thy Gospel, Lord.

How doth Thy Word my heart engage!
  How well employ my tongue!
And in my tiresome pilgrimage,
  Yields me a heav’nly song.

Am I a stranger or at home,
  'Tis my perpetual feast;
Not honey dropping from the comb
  So much allures the taste.

No treasures so enrich the mind;
  Nor shall Thy Word be sold
For loads of silver well refined,
  Nor heaps of choicest gold.

When nature sinks, and spirits droop,
  Thy promises of grace
Are pillars to support my hope,
  And there I write Thy praise.