Ni all angylion nef y nef,
Fynegi maint ei gariad Ef,
Mae angau'r Groes
yn drech na'u dawn;
Bydd canu uwch am Galfari,
Nag dim a glybu angylion fry,
Pan ddelo Salem bur yn llawn.
Am iddo farw ar y bryn,
Cadd f'enaid bach ei brynu'n llyn,
A'i dynn o'i gadwynau'n rhydd;
Wel, bellach dan ei haeddiant ef,
Fel cysgod rhyw gedrwydden gref,
Gorffwysai mwy
y'ngwres y dydd.
Nis gall angylion nef y nef,
Fynegi maint ei gariad ef,
Mae angau'r groes
yn drech na'u dawn;
Bydd canu uwch am Galfari,
Nag glywodd yr angylion fry,
Pan ddelo Salem bur yn llawn.
Am iddo farw ar y bryn,
Ca'dd f'enaid bach ei gannu'n wyn,
A'i dynn o'i gadwynau'n rhydd;
Byth bellach tan ei haeddiant ef,
Fel cysgod cedrwydden gref,
Gorphwysai mwy
y'ngwres y dydd.
Câf yno ddedwydd, dawel fyw,
Uwch brad
gelynion o bob rhyw,
O swn y drafferth, a phob gwae;
A threulio trag'wyddoldeb mwy,
I ganu am ei ddwyfol glwy',
Mewn anthem fythol i barhau.
Y trysor pennaf heddyw yw,
O fewn y nefoedd, gwaed Mab Duw,
Holl sylwedd y caniadau i gyd;
A thyna'r gwaed
a roddodd iawn,
I ddwyfol ddigter, perffaith llawn,
Fy hedd a'm cysur yn y byd.
Nis gall angelion nef y nef
Fynegi maint ei gariad Ef:
Mae angeu'r groes
yn drech na'u dawn:
Bydd canu uwch am Galfari
Nag glywodd yr angelion fry,
Pan ddelo Salem bur yn llawn.
O dyma'r ddyfais fwya'i maes,
Y fwya'i chariad,
fwya'i grâs,
Agorodd ffordd o'r ddae'r i'r nef:
Cariad heb gymhar iddo'r un,
A nofiodd yn ei waed ei hun
Trwy angeu, oedd ei gariad Ef.
Doed bellach Indiaid
pella'r byd,
Doed gogledd, dwyrain, de, yn nghyd
Canent ei iachawdwriaeth Ef;
Dadseinied holl dafodau'r byd,
Ag auraidd d'lynau'r nef yn nghyd,
Na thawont tra f'o
nef y nef.
1,2,3,4,(5); 1,2,4; 1,3,4; 1,3,5,6; 1,4,5. Nis gall angelion nef y nef,
Fynegi maint ei gariad ef,
Mae angeu'r groes
yn drech na'u dawn:
Bydd canu uwch am Galfari,
Nag glywodd yr angelion fry,
Pan ddelo Salem bur yn llawn.
Nis teimlodd neb ond ef ei hun,
Anfeidrol werth fy enaid cun,
Uwch da, uwch aur,
uwch perlau drud;
Ni thalai dim ond gwaed fy Nuw,
Angeuol farwol loes, a byw,
A'm prynai o dragwyddol lid.
Y penaf drysor heddyw yw,
O fewn y nefoedd gwaed fy Nuw,
Holl sylwedd y caniadau i gyd:
A thyna'r gwaed
a roddodd iawn,
I ddwyfol ddigter perffaith llawn,
Fy hedd a'm cysur yn y byd.
Am iddo farw ar y bryn,
Ca'dd f'enaid bach ei brynu'n llyn,
A'i dynu o'i gadwynau'n rhydd;
Byth bellach tan ei haeddiant ef,
Fel cysgod cedrwydden gref,
Gorphwysai mwy
y'ngwres y dydd.
Boed oesoedd meithion fwy na mwy,
Heb rif,
heb ddarfod arnynt hwy,
I ganu am dy ddirfawr boen:
Na thawed tafod o unrhyw,
Na dim o dan y nef sy'n byw,
Ond sôn am goncwest
addfwyn Oen.
Mae yn ei glwyfau drysor drud,
I faddeu beiau penau'r byd,
O flaen yr orsedd buraf sydd:
Ni all euogrwydd yno ddim,
Fe gyll melldithion
Sinai'u grym,
Maddeuant perffaith garia'r dydd.
William Williams 1717-91
Tonau [888D]:
gwelir: |
The angels of the heaven of heaven cannot
Express the extent of his love,
The death of the cross
surpasses their ability;
There will be louder singing about Calvary,
Than anything the angels above heard,
When pure Salem comes fully.
Because he died on the hill,
My little soul got redeemed thus,
And pulled from its chains free;
See, henceforth under his merit,
Like the shade of some strong cedar tree,
It would rest evermore
in the heat of the day.
The angels of the heaven of heaven cannot
Express the extent of his love,
The death of the cross
surpasses their ability;
There will be louder singing about Calvary,
Than the angels above heard,
When pure Salem comes fully.
Because he died on the hill,
My little soul got bleached white,
And pulled from its chains free;
For evermore under his merit,
Like the shade of a strong cedar tree,
It would rest evermore
in the heat of the day.
If will get there happily, quietly to live,
Above the treachery
of enemies of every kind,
From the sound of trouble, and every woe;
And spend eternity evermore,
To sing about his mortal wound,
In an anthem for ever to continue.
The chief treasure today is,
Within heaven, the blood of the Son of God,
The whole matter of all the songs;
And there is the blood
which gave satisfaction,
To divine wrath, perfectly fully,
My peace and my comfort in the world.
The angels of the heaven of heaven cannot
Express the extent of his love,
The death of the cross
surpasses their ability;
There will be louder singing about Calvary,
Than the angels above heard,
When pure Salem comes fully.
O here is the greatest plan of all,
The greatest of his love,
the greatest of his grace,
He open a way from the earth to heaven:
Love without any to compare to it,
Which swam in his own blood
Through death, was His love.
Henceforth let the most distant
Indians of the world come,
Let north come, east, south, together
Let them sing His salvation;
Let all the tongues of the world resound,
Together with the golden harps of heaven,
They will not be silent while ever
there is the heaven of heaven.
The angels of the heaven of heaven cannot
Express the extent of his love,
The death of the cross
surpasses their ability;
There will be louder singing about Calvary,
Than the angels above heard,
When pure Salem comes fully.
No-one felt but he himself,
The infinite worth of my dear soul,
Above goods, above gold,
above costly pearls;
Nothing would pay but the blood of my God,
Deathly, mortal anguish, and live,
And redeem me from eternal wrath.
The chief treasure today is,
Within heaven, the blood of the Son of God,
The whole matter of all the songs;
And there is the blood
which gave satisfaction,
To divine wrath, perfectly fully,
My peace and my comfort in the world.
Because he died on the hill,
My little soul got redeemed thus,
And pulled from its chains free;
For evermore under his merit,
Like the shade of a strong cedar tree,
It would rest evermore
in the heat of the day.
Let there be vast ages more than more,
Without number,
without any passing away upon them,
To sing about the enormous pain:
Let no tongue of anyone be silent,
Nor of anything under heaven living,
But mentioning the conquest
of the gentle Lamb.
In his wounds is precious treasure,
To forgive the chief faults of the world,
Before the purest throne there is:
Guilt can there do nothing,
The condemnations of Sinai
shall lose their force,
Perfect forgiveness shall carry the day.
tr. 2015,20 Richard B Gillion |
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