Fy Nuw fy Noddfa wyt a'm rhan
  A'm cyfan yn dragwyddol;
Ni feddaf ond tydi'n y ne',
  Nac mewn un lle daearol.

Pa weigion bethau yw'r wybren fry,
  A'r ddaear sy' o tani?
'Does yma ddim sydd fel fy Nuw,
  Na dim sydd wiw im' hoffi.

Ofer i'r haul dysgleirwych fry
  A'i wàn oleuni 'mddangos,
Dy lewyrch di sy'n gwneyd fy nydd,
  Os hwn ymgudd, mae'n d'w'll-nos.

A thra b'wyf yn fy ngwely'r nos
  A'r lleni dros fy llygaid,
Os dengys Crist ei wên - yn wir
  Mae'n fore clir ar f'enaid.

Cyfeillion, iechyd, llawnder, llwydd,
  Dy roddion, Arglwydd, ydynt;
Boed am y rhai'n it' ddiolch gwiw,
  Ond nid fy Nuw mo honynt.

Pe bawn yn berchen yr holl fyd,
  A'r nef i gyd pe meddwn;
Duw, heb dy ras, a thi dy hun,
  Truenus ddyn a fyddwn.

My God, my Refuge thou art and my portion
  And my whole eternally;
I possess none but thee in heaven,
  Nor in any earthly place.

What empty things are the sky above,
  And the earth which is beneath it?
This is nothing here which is like my God,
  Nor anything worthy of my delighting.

Vain is the shining sun above
  And its weak light that appears,
Thy radiance it is that makes my nest,
  If this hides, it is dark night.

And whenever I am in my bed at night
  And the cover over my eyes,
If Christ shows his smile - truly
  It is clear morning upon my soul.

Friends, health, fullness, prosperity,
  Thy gifts, Lord, they are;
Let there be for them to thee worthy thanks,
  But not my God are they.

If I were possessor of the whole world,
  And all heaven if I possessed it;
God, without thy grace, and thee thyself,
  A wretched man I would be.

My God, my portion, and my love,
  My everlasting all!
I've none but Thee in Heav'n above,
  Or on this earthly ball.

What empty things are all the skies,
  And this inferior clod!
There's nothing here deserves my joys,
  There's nothing like my God.

In vain the bright, the burning sun
  Scatters his feeble light;
'Tis Thy sweet beams create my noon;
  If Thou withdraw, 'tis night.

And whilst upon my restless bed,
  Amongst the shades I roll,
If my Redeemer shows His head,
  'Tis morning with my soul.

To Thee we owe our wealth, and friends,
  And health, and safe abode:
Thanks to Thy name for meaner things,
  But they are not my God.

Were I possessor of the earth,
  And called the stars my own,
Without Thy graces and Thyself
  I were a wretch undone.