Fy nghalon cān bereiddiaf glod

Fy nghalon cān bereiddiaf glod
I frenhim Sļon, is y rhod;
  A'm tafod, arfer di dy ddawn,
  Fel pin 'sgrifenydd buan iawn.

O teccach, Frenhin glān, dy bryd,
Nā meibion dynion
    hardda'r byd!
  Tywalltwyd gras i'th enau gwiw,
  Ac fyth y'th fawr fendithiodd Duw.

Gwresgysa di dy gleddyf llym,
A gwisg holl arfau glān dy rym;
  Mewn llwydd marchoga ac mewn bri,
  Gwir ac addfwynder gyd ā thi.





Dy ofn a dreiddio fel y saeth
Trwy fron bob
    gelyn cyndyn caeth;
  Neu eiriau mwyn trugaredd rad
  A doddo'r cyfryw wrth dy dra'd.

My heart, sing sweetest praise
To the king of Zion, below the sky;
  And my tongue, practise thou thy gift,
  Like the pen of a very swift writer.

O fairer, holy King, thy countenance,
Than the most beautiful of
    the world's sons of men!
  Grace was poured into thy worthy mouth,
  And God has greatly blessed thee forever.

Gird on thy sharp sword,
And wear all the holy weapons of thy force;
  In prosperity ride and with honour,
  Truth and gentleness with thee.





Thy fear shall penetrate like the arrow
Through the breast of every
    stubborn, captive enemy;
  Or gentle words of gracious mercy
  Which shall put such at thy feet.

1 While I the King's loud praise rehearse,
    indited by my heart,
  My tongue is like the pen of him
    that writes with ready art.

2 How matchless is thy form, O King!
    thy mouth with grace o'erflows;
  Because fresh blessings God on thee
    eternally bestows.

3 Gird on thy sword, most mighty prince;
    and, clad in rich array,
  With glorious ornaments of pow'r
    majestic pomp display.

4 Ride on in state, and still protect
    the meek, the just, and true;
  Whilst thy right hand with swift revenge
    does all thy foes pursue.

5 How sharp thy weapons are to them,
    that dare thy pow'r despise!
  Down, down they fall,
      while through their heart
    the feathered arrow flies.