Pam y caiff bwystfilod rheibus?

Pam y caiff bwystfilod rheibus
  Dorri'r egin mân i lawr?
Pam caiff blodau peraidd, ieuainc
  Fethu gan y sychder mawr?
Tyred â'r cawodydd hyfryd
  Sy'n cynyddu'r egin grawn,
Cawod hyfryd yn y bore
  Ac un arall y prynhawn.

Gosod babell yng ngwlad Gosen,
  Tyred, Arglwydd, yno d'hun,
Gostwng o'r uchelder golau,
  Gwna dy drigfan gyda dyn;
Trig yn Seion, aros yno
  Lle mae'r llwythau'n dod ynghyd,
Byth na 'mad oddi wrth dy bobol
  Nes yn ulw'r elo'r byd.

Blinais ar afonydd Babel,
  Nid oes yno'ond wylo i gyd:
Llais telynau hyfryd Sïon
  Sydd yn cyson ddenu 'mryd:
Tyr'd â ni yn dorf gariadus
  O gaethiwed Babel fawr,
Ac nes b'om ar fynydd Sïon,
  Na'd in' orphwys ar y llawr.

Dacw'r Brenin yn ei degwch,
  Wele ei Brïod wrth ei glun;
Gwedd ei wyneb sy'n rhagori
  Y'mhell ar wedd wynebpryd dyn;
Dyma dydd, dydd ei ddyweddi,
  Dyma'r brïodasol wledd,
Dyma'r dydd caiff pererinion
  Yfed o'i dragwyddol hedd.

             - - - - -

Pa'm y caiff bwystfilod rheibus
  Dori'r egin man i lawr;
Pa'm caiff blodau peraidd, ieueinc
  Fethu gan y sychder mawr?
Tyred a'r cafodydd hyfryd,
  Sy'n cynyddu'r egin grawn,
Cafod hyfryd yn y bore,
  Ac un arall y prydnawn.

Mae'r anialwch wedi mlino,
  Chwant sydd arnaf wel'd y tir,
Roddwyd i mi gan fy Arglwydd,
  Cadarn mewn addewid wir;
Gwlad o oleuni heb dywyllwch,
  Gwlad o gariad heb ddim trai,
Gwlad heb hawddfyd na phleserau,
  Ond yn unig dy fwynâu.

O dyrchaf'm henaid egwan,
  Y mae bellch yn hwyrâu;
Hir yw'r amser i och'neidio,
  Gwna fi o'r diwedd lawenâu:
Gorphwys gronyn bach a chanu,
  Yn rhydd o'm holl ofidiau i gyd,
Yn y man och'neidio a griddfan,
  Yw fy mywyd yn y byd.

Dysgwyl pethau gwych i ddyfod,
  Croes i hyny maent yn dod;
Meddwl fory daw gorfoledd,
  Fory'r tristwch mwya' erioed;
Meddwl byw ac etto marw,
  Yw'r lleferydd dan fy mron,
Bob yn ronyn mi rof ffarwel,
  Ffarwel glân i'r ddaear hon.

Trag'wyddoldeb mawr yw d'enw,
  Ti mae yn debyg yw fy lle,
Un dros ddiwrnod ydwyf yma,
  Fry mae nghartre' yn y ne';
Mae'm diwrnod bron a gorphen,
  Mae fy haul bron myn'd i lawr,
Mae pob awel yn fy chwythu,
  Tua'r trag'wyddoldeb mawr.

gwelir:
  Blinais ar afonydd Babel
  Dyma'r byd y mae taranau
  Gosod babell yng ngwlad Gosen
  Mae'r anialwch wedi mlino
  Mae rhyw foroedd o drugaredd
  O am nerth i dreulio 'nyddiau
  O Iachawdwr pechaduriaid

Why are ravenous beasts allowed
  To break the little shoots down?
Why are sweet, young flowers allowed
  To fail in the great drought?
Bring the pleasant showers
  Which produce the shoots of grain,
A pleasant shower in the morning
  And another in the afternoon.

Pitch a tent in the land of Goshen,
  Come, Lord, there thyself,
Descend from the height of light,
  Make thy dwelling with man.
Reside in Zion, remain there,
  Where the tribes come together,
Do not ever leave thy people
  Until to ashes goes the world.

I wearied of Babylon's rivers,
  There is nothing there but all weeping:
The voice of Zion's lovely harps
  Were constantly drawing my attention:
Bring us as a loving multitude
  Of captives of great Babylon,
And until we are on mount Zion,
  Do not let us lie on the ground.

Yonder is the King in his fairness,
  See his bride on his knee;
Fair his face which is surpassing
  By far the countenance of man's face;
Behold the day, the day of his betrothal,
  Behold the marriage feast,
Behold the day when pilgrims may
  Drink from his eternal peace.

                - - - - -

Why are ravenous beasts allowed,
  To break the small shoots down;
Why are sweet young flowers allowed
  To fail in the great drought?
Bring the delightful showers
  Which increase the vine shoots,
A healing shower in the morning
  And another of in the afternoon.

The desert has wearied me,
  I have a desire to see the land,
It was given to me by my Lord,
  Secure in a true promise;
A land of light without darkness,
  A land of love without any fading,
A land without happiness or pleasure,
  But only to enjoy thee.

O raise my weak soul,
  It is now getting late;
Long is the time for groaning,
  Make me at last to rejoice:
To rest a tiny bit and to sing,
  Free from all my worries altogether,
For a while groaning and moaning,
  Is my life in the world.

Awaiting brilliant things to come,
  Contrary to this they are coming;
To think tomorrow comes jubilation,
  The morn of the greatest ever sadness;
To think of living and yet dying,
  Is the speech under my breast,
Bit by bit I bid farewell,
  A complete farewell to this earth.

A great eternity is thy name,
  Thou similarly art my place,
Just for a day am I here,
  Above is my home in heaven;
The day is almost finished,
  The sun is almost going down,
Every breeze is blowing me,
  Towards the great eternity.

Why should beasts of prey be suffered

Fix, O Lord, a tent in Goshen,
  Thither come and there abide,
Bow thyself from light celestial,
  And with sinful man reside.
Dwell in Zion, there continue,
  Where the holy tribes ascend;
Do not e'er desert thy people,
  Till the world in flames shall end.

also: Fix a dwelling, Lord, in Goshen
tr. 1854 Joseph Morris