Mae ffyrdd ein Duw yn rhyfedd iawn

Mae ffyrdd ein Duw yn rhyfedd iawn,
Siwr ei addewiad, mawr ei ddawn,
  Ar faingc trugaredd fry y sai',
  Oddi yno'i ras mae'n eglurhâu.

Nid hanner cyfuwch ydyw nen,
Y nef serenog uwch ein pen,
  Ag yw ei gariad ef yn bôd
  Uwchlaw ein gobaith ni a'n clôd.

Mor araf ennyn dig ein Duw,
Parottach i drugaredd yw;
  Ac os ei ddig a gaiff gyffroi,
  Mae'n ebrwydd i dosturi'n troi.

Ynghanol llid mae'n trugarhau,
Ysgafnach yw ei gosp na'n bai;
  A thra ceryddo'i saint yn fwyn,
  Ei glust a wrendy ar eu cwyn.

Fel tadau'n cospi plant
    er bydd,
A dwylo tirion, golwg brudd,
  Pan wylo'r plant,
      ac adde'u bai,
  Bydd calon
      tadau'n trugarhau.

Y doeth a'r cyfiawn Dduw a wyr,
Mai llwch yw'n defnydd ni yn llwyr,
  Dim beichiau arnom, ni ddyd ef,
  Tu hwynt i'r nerth a rydd o'r nef.

Ei bur drag'wyddol gariad mae,
I bawb o'i saint fyth i barhâu;
  A'i ddewid sydd
      i blant eu plant,
  Gobeithio'n ofer
      byth ni chant.

The ways of our God are very wonderful,
Sure his promise, great his gift,
  On the mercy-seat above he stands,
  From there his grace he is making evident.

Not half as high is the sky,
The starry heaven above our head,
  As is his love being
  Above our hope and our praise.

How slowly does our God's wrath kindle,
More ready to show mercy he is;
  And if his anger gets aroused,
  It is suddenly to pity turning.

In the midst of wrath there are mercies,
Lighter is his punishment than our fault;
  And while he chastises his saints gently,
  His ear listens to their complaint.

As fathers chastising their children
   although there is,
With tender hands, a sad look,
  When the children weep,
      and confess their fault,
  The heart of fathers
      shall be showing mercy.

The wise and the righteous God does know,
That dust is our substance completely,
  No burden upon us, shall he place,
  Beyond the strength he gives from heaven.

His pure, eternal love is,
To all of the saints forever to endure;
  And his promise is
      to the children of their children,
  They shall never get
      to hope in vain.

The Lord, how wondrous are his ways!
How firm his truth! how large his grace!
  He takes his mercy for his throne,
  And thence he makes his glories known.

Not half so high his power hath spread
The starry heav'ns above our head,
  As his rich love exceeds our praise,
  Exceeds the highest hopes we raise.

How slowly doth his wrath arise!
On swifter wings salvation flies;
  And if he lets his anger burn,
  How soon his frowns to pity turn.

Amidst his wrath compassion shines;
His strokes are lighter than our sins
  And while his rod corrects his saints,
  His ear indulges their complaints.

So fathers their
    young sons chastise
With gentle hand and melting eyes;
  The children weep
      beneath the smart,
  And move the pity
      of their heart.

The mighty God, the wise and just,
Knows that our frame is feeble dust;
  And will no heavy loads impose
  Beyond the strength that he bestows.

But his eternal love is sure
To all the saints, and shall endure;
  From age to age
      his truth shall reign,
  Nor children's children
      hope in vain.