Na foed im feddwl ddydd na nos

Na foed im' feddwl ddydd na nos,
Ond cariad perffaith
    angau'r groes;
  Hwn alwaf mwy yn orsedd gras:
Ar Galfari mae maingc y nef,
Yn agos at ei groesbren Ef,
  Oddi yno rhoddir hedd i maes.

Boed oesoedd meithion, fwy na mwy,
Heb rif, heb ddarfod arnynt hwy,
  I ganu am dy ddirfawr boen;
Na thawed tafod o un rhyw,
Na dim o dan y nef sy'n byw,
  Â sôn am goncwest
      addfwyn Oen.

gwelir:
  Boed bryn y groes boed Calfari
  Ni welodd llyga(i)d dyn erioed
  Nis gall angylion nef y nef

Let me not think, day or night,
But of the perfect love
    of the death of the cross;
  This henceforth I call a throne of grace:
On Calvary is the bench of heaven,
Near to His wooden cross,
  From there is peace given out.

Let the vast ages, more and more,
Be without number, unceasing,
  To sing about thy enormous pain;
Let no tongue of any kind be silent,
Nor anything under heaven which is living,
  From mentioning the conquest
      of the gentle Lamb.