Mi dreuliaf weddill dyddiau f'oes

Mi dreuliaf weddill dyddiau f'oes,
  Fel rhyw ddyeithr-ddyn,
F'ai'n trigo mewn rhyw anial dir,
  Yn mhell o'i wlad ei hun.

Ar fin y dw'r 'rwy'n edrych ar
  Gyffiniau'r ardal well,
Gan ddysgwyl galwad i fyn'd draw
  O swn y byd yn mhell.

Pan af trwy'r bedd i'r bydoedd draw,
  Pwy gyfaill wrthyf lŷn?
'Does brawd, na chwaer,
    na chyfaill ddaw,
  Na neb ond Crist ei hun.

I will spend the rest of the days of my age,
  Like some stranger,
Who would be dwelling in some desert land,
  Far from his own land.

On the edge of the water I am looking on
  The borders of a better region,
While expecting a call up yonder
  Far from the sound of the world.

When I go through the grave to yonder worlds,
  Which friend will stick with me?
There is no brother, or sister,
    or friend shall come,
  Or anyone but Christ himself.

I'll spend my few remaining days,
  While here ordained to roam,
As exiles do in distant lands,
  I'll think of nought but home.

Wistful upon the strand I gaze
  Toward heaven, my country's shore,
Expecting hence ere long to sail,
  And sin and weep no more.

When I depart for other worlds,
  What friend will cleave to me?
None, none,
    how well soe'er beloved -
  Dear Jesus, none but Thee.