O(h) beth yw dyn a'i fywyd ef

Oh beth yw dyn a'i fywyd ef,
Y dyn anwylaf dan y nef,
  Y gruddiau hoff, a'r agwedd hardd,
  Ond megis gwan flodeuyn gardd.

Diflana'r gwych flaguryn îr,
Rhag angau hwn ni ddianga'n hir;
  Cuddir ar frys
      yr hawddgar wedd,
  Fu'n lloni'r byd,
      yn llwch y bedd.

Gwyn fyd yr enaid pur a aeth,
I ffordd o'r corph llygredig caeth,
  I'r nefoedd wen, fyth yno i fyw,
  Ym mhresennoldeb melys Duw.

Oh! am gael gwel'd, fel Moses gu,
Odidog fro y Ganaan fry:
  A gorphen fel y prophwyd gwiw,
  Fy athrist daith ar fynwes Duw.

Nesâu ar frys mae'r ddedwydd awr,
Pan glywo'r meirw'r udgorn mawr:
  Pan adgyfodo'r saint i gyd,
  I foli Duw tros fyth ynghyd.

              - - - - -

O! beth yw dyn a'i fywyd ef,
Y dyn anwylaf dan y nef,
  Yr agwedd hoff, a'r gruddiau hardd,
  Ond têg a gwyrdd flodeuyn gardd!

Diflana'r gwan flaguryn îr,
Rhag angeu oer ni ddianga'n hir;
  Cuddir ar frys
      yr hawddgar wedd,
  Fu'n llòni'r byd
      yn llwch y bedd.

O am gael gwel'd fel Moses gu,
Odidog fro y Ganaan fry,
  A gorphen, fel y prophwyd gwiw,
  Fy athrist daith ar fynwes Duw!

O deu'd ar frys y ddedwydd awr,
I ganu maes o'r angel mawr,
  Pan adgyfoda'r saint i gyd,
  I foli Duw dros fyth ynghyd.

Oh what is man and his life,
The most beloved man under heaven,
  The fond cheek, and the beautiful manner,
  But like a weak garden flower.

The brilliant fresh shoot shall vanish,
From this death we shall not escape long;
  The beautiful countenance
      is quickly hidden,
  That cheered the world,
      in the dust of the grave.

Blessed is the pure soul that went
Away from the captive corrupt body,
  To bright heaven, forever there to live,
  In the sweet presence of God.

Oh, to get to see, like dear Moses,
The excellent region of the Canaan above,
  And finish, like the worthy prophet,
  My sad journey on the bosom of God.

Nearing quickly is the happy hour,
When the dead hear the great trumpet:
  When all the saints rise again,
  To praise God forever together.

                - - - - -

O what is man and his life,
The most beloved man under heaven,
  The fond manner, and the beatiful cheeks,
  But a fair and green garden flower!

The weak fresh shoot shall vanish,
From cold death we shall not escape long;
  The beautiful countenance
      is quickly hidden,
  That cheered the world,
      in the dust of the grave.

O to get to see like dear Moses,
The excellent region of the Canaan above,
  And finish, like the worthy prophet,
  My sad journey on the bosom of God!

O let the happy hour come quickly,
For the singing out of the great angel,
  When all the saints shall rise again,
  To praise God forever together.