Ni welodd llygad dyn erioed,
Ni chlywodd clust o dan y rhod
  Am neb cyffelyb iddo ef:
O! Rosyn Saron hardd ei liw!
Pwy ddyd i maes rinweddau 'Nuw?
  Efe yw bywyd nef y nef.

Mae yn ei glwyfau drysor drud,
I faddeu beiau pena'r byd,
  O flaen yr orsedd buraf sydd;
Ni all euogrwydd yno ddim,
Fe gyll holl ddeddfau Sinai'u grym;
  Maddeuant perffaith garia'r dydd.

Fe ddaw diwrnod - doed pan ddêl,
A'r llygaid yma'u hun a'i gwel,
  Pan ymddangoso'i fawredd ef,
Mewn rhwysg a harddwch, parch a bri,
Yn mhlith cwmpeini aneirif lu,
  Fydd yn rhyfeddod nef y nef.

O! f'enaid, edrych arno'n awr,
Yn llanw'r nef, yn llanw'r llawr,
  Yn holl ogoniant dŵr a thir;
Nid oes, ni fu erioed,
    ni ddaw,
O'r dwyrain i'r gorllewin draw,
  Gyffelyb i'm Hanwylyd pur.

'Does un aflendid unrhyw fai,
Nad yw ei haeddiant yn glanhau;
  Pechodau dua' glywid son,
A foddir yn yr afon fawr,
Mewn amryw liwiau ddaeth i lawr,
  O ystlys addfwyn nefol Oen.

Mi garaf fy Anwylyd mwy,
Ddioddefodd troswyf farwol glwy',
  Agorodd ffynnon loyw, fyw,
I olchi hen archollion wnaed
Gan bechod câs, o'm pen i'm traed,
  Y dyfroedd dardd dan groes fy Nuw.

Fe all yr Indiaid pella gaed,
I wel'd yr hoelion yn ei draed,
  A gwel'd ei ben yn crymu lawr;
Fe ylch y pelledigion hyn,
Yn ganaid fel yr eira gwyn,
  Oddiwrth eu beiau fach a mawr.

Ni welodd llygaid dyn erio'd,
Ni chlywodd clust o dan y rhod,
  Am neb cyffelyb iddo ef:
O Rosyn Saron, hardd ei liw,
Pwy ddod i maes rinweddau'm Duw,
  Efe yw bywyd nef y nef.

Gorchfygodd trwy angheuol glwy',
Elynion creulon nerthol fwy,
  Nag all sai'r byd orchfygu yn un:
Fe faeddodd uffern ehang lawn,
Ar ben Calfaria un prydnawn,
  Yn lan heb neb ond ef ei hun.

Mae yn ei glwyfau drysor drud,
I faddeu beiau pena'r byd,
  O flaen yr orsedd buraf sydd;
Ni all euogrwydd yno ddim,
Fe gyll y ddeddf ei damniol rym,
  Maddeuant perffaith garia'r dydd.

Fe welir Sion fel y wawr,
Er tlotted yw ei gwedd yn awr,
  Yn d'od o'r cystudd mawr i'r lann;
Heb glaf na chlwyfus yn eu plith,
Yn y cyfiawnder dwyfol byth,
  Saif yn y diwedd yn ei rhan.

Na boed im' feddwl ddydd na nos.
Ond cariad perffaith
    angau'r gro's,
  Hwn alwa'i mwy yn orsedd gras;
Ar Galfari mae maingc y nef,
Yn agos at ei groesbren ef,
  Oddiyno rhoddir hedd i ma's.

Ni welodd llygad dyn erioed,
Ni chlywodd clust o dan y rhôd,
  Am neb cyffelyb iddo ef;
O Rhosyn Saron, hardd ei liw,
Pwy ddatgan byth rinweddau'm Duw?
  Efe yw bywyd nef y nef.

O! rhwyga'r cwmyl dudew sy'
Yn cuddio gwedd ei wyneb cu,
  Yr hwn yn llanw'r nefoedd sydd;
Pelydrau pur ei Ddwyfol wedd
Oleuant gonglau tywylla'r bedd,
  Gan droi y nos yn berfaith ddydd.

gwelir:
  Fe welir Sion fel y wawr
  Na foed im feddwl ddydd na nos
  Ni's gall angelion/angylion nef y nef
  Rhwyga'r tew gymylau duon
  Wel dyma'r cyfaill goreu ga'd
  Wel f'enaid cerdd y fordd yn hŷ

The eye of man has never seen,
Nor heard an ear below the sky
  Of anyone comparable to him:
O Rose of Sharon, beautiful his colour!
Who will set forth my God's merits?
  He is the life of the heaven of heaven.

In his wounds is costly treasure,
To forgive the chief faults of the world,
  Before the purest throne there is;
Guilt can there do nothing,
All the laws of Sinai will lose their force;
  Perfect forgiveness will carry the day.

A day shall some - let it come when it will,
When these eyes themselves shall see him,
  When his majesty appears,
In splendour and beauty, honour and renown,
Amongst the company of an innumerable host,
  He will be a wonder of the heaven of heaven.

O my soul, look upon him now!
Filling heaven, filling the earth,
  All the glory of water and land;
There is not, nor was there ever,
    nor shall come,
From the East to yonder West,
  Anyone comparable to my pure Beloved.

There is no uncleanness of any fault,
That his merit is not cleansing;
  The blackest sins heard mention of,
Are to be drowned in the great river,
Which in a variety of colours came down,
  From the side of the dear heavenly Lamb.

I will love my beloved more,
He suffered for me a mortal wound,
  He opened a shining, living spring,
To wash old wounds made
By detestable sin, from my head to my feet,
  The waters spring under my God's cross.

The most distant Indians there are, can
See the nails in his feet,
  And see his head bowing down;
He will wash these far off ones,
Bright like the white snow,
  From their faults small and great.

The eye of man has never seen,
Nor an ear heard beneath the sky,
  Of anyone comparable to him;
O Rose of Sharon, beautiful his colour,
Who will set forth my God's virtues?
  He is the life of the heaven of heaven.

He overcame through a mortal wound,
Cruel foes of greater strength,
  Than all the world as one could overcome:
He smote broad, full hell,
On the summit of Calvary one afternoon,
  Completely with no-one but himself.

In his wounds is costly treasure,
To forgive the chief faults of the world,
  Before the purest throne there is;
There can guilt do nothing,
The law loses its condemnatory force,
  Perfect forgiveness caries the day.

Zion is to be seen like the dawn,
Despite how poor its condition is now,
  Coming up from the great tribulation;
Without sick or wounded in its midst,
In the divine righteousness forever,
  It will stand in the end for its part.

Do not let me think, day or night
Except of the perfect love
    of the death of the cross,
  This I will call evermore a throne of grace;
On Calvary the throne of heaven is
Near to his wooden cross,
  From there peace is to be given out.

The eye of man has never seen,
Nor an ear heard beneath the sky,
  Of anyone comparable to him;
O Rose of Sharon, beautiful his colour,
Who will ever express my God's virtues?
  He is the life of the heaven of heaven.

Oh, rend the thick-black cloud which is
Concealing the countenance of his dear face,
  Of him who is filling the heavens;
The pure rays of his Divine countenance
Illuminate the darkest corners of the grave,
  While turning the night into perfect day.