Ein Duw sy'n haeddu mawl dan go'

Ein Duw sy'n haeddu mawl dan go'
  Pan godom o gyfyngdra;
Cymmerwn batrwn pur o'n clod,
  O dafod Hezecia.

Ofer ymegyr pyrth y bedd,
  O's Duw o'i ryfedd gariad
Sy'n cadw allweddi angau caeth,
  Erch iddynt eilwaith gauad.

Doluriau'n cnawd yn fynych sy'n
  Dychrynu ein meddyliau;
Dweud 'ry'm, Nid oes in' ddyddiau'n hŵy,
  Na gweddill mwy i'n blynyddau."

Fel gwennol trydar yn drist iawn
  Neu gwyno wnawn fel c'lommen,
Mewn chwer'der prudd, heb gysur, pan
  Y byddom dan y wialen.

Duw dd'wed y gair ag fy'n iachâu,
  Ac ni wrthsai'r clefydon:
Mae heintiau a thwymynion swrth
  Yn cilio wrth ei eirchion.

Ein bywyd, afiach, llesg, a brau
  Ei wella mae yn holl-iach;
Tu cefn mae'n taflu'n beiau gwael,
  Na b'ont i'w cael byth mwyach.

God deserves to be remembered with praise
  When we rise from adversity;
Let us take the pure pattern of our esteem,
  From the tongue of Hezekiah.

In vain the portals of the grave open,
  If God of his wonderful love
Who keeps the keys of captive death,
  Commands them to close again.

The sadnesses of our flesh often
  Terrify our thoughts;
We say, "We have no longer any days,
  Nor any more remainder to our years."

Like a swallow twittering very sadly
  Or complaining we are like a dove,
In sad bitterness, without comfort, when
  We are under the rod.

God say the word which heals,
  And which diseases would not withstand:
Infections and stubborn fevers are
  Retreating at his commands.

Our life, unhealthy, feeble and fragile
  He is healing completely whole;
Behind he is flinging our base faults,
  They are never to be found again.

When we are raised from deep distress,
  Our God deserves a song;
We take the pattern of our praise
  From Hezekiah's tongue.

The gates of the devouring grave
  Are opened wide in vain,
If he that holds the keys of death
  Commands them fast again.

Pains of the flesh are wont t'abuse
  Our minds with slavish fears:
"Our days are past, and we shall lose
  The remnant of our years."

We chatter with a swallow's voice,
  Or like a dove we mourn,
With bitterness instead of joys,
  Afflicted and forlorn.

Jehovah speaks the healing word,
  And no disease withstands;
Fevers and plagues obey the Lord,
  And fly at his commands.

If half the strings of life should break,
  He can our frame restore;
He casts our sins behind his back,
  And they are found no more.