Mae swn y clychau'n chwarae

1,(2,3,4,5,6,7).
Mae sŵn y clychau'n chwarae
  Wrth odrau Iesu mawr
Ac arogl y pomgranadau
  I'w clywed ar y llawr;
Maddeuant i bechadur
  Yn effeithio i fwynhad,
Er mwyn yr aberth difai
  A lwyr fodlonai'r Tad.

Cofia ddilyn y medelwyr,
  Plith 'r ysgubau treulia d'oes;
Pan fo'r gwres yn fwya' tanbaid,
  Gwlych dy damaid wrth y groes;
Lloffa yn maes yr ysgrythyrau,
  Lle mae tywysenau addfed llawn,
Hael fendithion y cyfmod
  Sydd yn dyfod trwy yr iawn.

Pan oedd Sinai gynt yn danllyd,
  Ar gyhoeddiad cyfraith Duw,
A'r troseddwyr yn ddychrynllyd,
  Ac yn ammheu a gaent fyw;
Yn nirgelwch rym y daran,
  Codwyd allor wrth ei droed;
Ebyrth oedd yn rhagddangosiad
  O'r aberthiad mwya' erioed.

O na b'ai fy mhen yn ddyfroedd,
  Fel yr wylwn yn ddilai
Am fod Seion lu banerog
  'Ngwres y dydd yn llwfrhau;
Mae llwynogod ynddi'n rhodio,
  I ddifwyno'r egin grawn,
A'r Secena yn ymado
  O foreu dydd hyd prydnawn.

Y mae dyfroedd iachawdwriaeth,
  A'u rhinweddau mewn parhad;
Y mae ynddynt feddyginiaeth
  Anffaeledig ac yn rhad:
Deuwch gleifion codwm Eden
  I ddefnyddio'r dyfroedd hyn;
Ni bydd diwedd byth ar rinwedd
  Sylwedd mawr Bethesda lyn.

A raid i'm sêl oedd farwor tanllyd
  Unwaith at d'ogoniant gwiw,
Caredigrwydd fy ieuenctid
  Fyn'd yn oerach at fy Nuw?
Preswylydd mawr yr uchelderau,
  Datguddia wedd
      dy wyneb llon,
Nes dyrchafy fy serchiadau
  Oddiar bethau'r ddaear hon.

Deffro, Arglwydd, gwna rymusder,
  Cofia lŵ'r
      cyfammod hedd,
Gwel dy enw mawr dan orchudd,
  Tystion sydd yn wael ei gwedd;
Dywed air a'i cwyd i fyny,
  Ti yw'r atgyfodiad mawr,
Argraffiadau'th enw newydd
  Ddisgleirio arnynt fel y wawr.

Mi gerdda'n ara' ddyddiau f'oes
Dan gysgod haeddiant
    gwaed y groes,
  A'r yrfa redaf
      yr un wedd,
Ac wrth ei rhedeg sefyll wnaf,
Gwel'd iachawdwriaeth lawn a gaf,
  Wrth fynd i orphwys yn y bedd.
Ann Griffiths 1776-1805

Tôn p.1 [7676D]:
    St Theodulph (Melchior Teschner 1584-1635)
[Mesur pp.2-7: 8787D]

gwelir:
  A raid i'm sêl
  Cofia ddilyn y medelwyr
  Mi gerdda'n ara' ddyddiau f'oes
  O na bai fy mhen yn ddyfroedd
  Pan oedd Sinai gynt yn danllyd
  Y mae dyfroedd iachawdwriaeth

The sound of the bells is playing
  At the hem of great Jesus
And the aroma of the pomegranates
  Is smelled on the ground;
Forgiveness for a sinner
  Effecting his enjoyment,
For the sake of the faultless sacrifice
  Which completely satisfied the Father.

Remember to follow the reapers,
  Amongst the sheaves spend thy age;
When the heat is more fiery,
  Wet thy morsel at the cross;
Glean in the field of the scriptures,
  Where the ears are fully ripe,
The generous blessings of the covenant
  Are coming through the atonement.

When Sinai was formerly fiery,
  At the publishing of God's law,
And the transgressors horrified,
  And doubting they would get to live;
In the secret force of the shield,
  An altar was raised at its foot;
Sacrifices were a foreshadowing
  Of the greatest sacrifice ever.

O that my head were waters,
  That I might weep unceasingly
Because Zion, a bannered host, is
  In the heat of the day losing heart;
The foxes are wandering in her,
  And spoiling the shoots of grain,
And the Shekinah has departed
  From morning until evening.

The waters of salvation are
  With their merits in perpetuity;
They are unfailing
  Medicine and free:
Come ye wounded of the fall of Eden
  To use these waters;
There shall never be any end to the merit
  Of the great substance of Bethesda lake.

Must my zeal which was a fiery coal
  Once towards thy worthy glory,
The lovingness of my youth
  Go colder towards my God?
Thou great resident of the heights,
  Reveal the countenance
      of thy cheerful face,
Until my affections rise
  From off the things of this earth.

Awake, Lord, make fortitude,
  Remember the oath of the
      covenant of peace,
See thy great name under a cover,
  Witnesses who are of a poor condition;
Say a word that will raise up,
  Thou art the great resurrection,
Impress thy new, shining
  Name upon them like the dawn.

I will walk slowly the days of my life
Under the shadow of the merit
    of the blood of the cross,
  And the course I shall run
      in the same way,
And while running it I shall stand,
See full salvation I shall,
  While going to rest in the grave.
tr. 2016,18 Richard B Gillion
The bells are sweetly ringing
tr. H A Hodges 1905-76
The Hymns of Ann Griffiths XXVI
The middle column is a literal translation of the Welsh. A Welsh translation is identified by the abbreviation 'cyf.' (emulation by 'efel.'), an English translation by 'tr.'

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