(1)
O Arglwydd! na cherydda fi
  Yn mhoethni dy gynddaredd;
Ac na chosba fi yn dy lid,
  O blegid fy anwiredd.
(2a)
O Arglwydd! dy drugaredd dôd,
  Wyf lesg mewn nychdod beunydd;
O Arglwydd! tyr'd, iachâ fi'n chwyrn,
  Mae f'esgyrn oll mewn cystudd.
(2b)
[O trugarha, fy Arglwydd, 'rwyf
   Yn curio trwy fy ngofid;
 Mae f'esgyrn briw,
     a'm cnawd, bob cam,
   Yn gwaeddi am dy iechyd.]
(3)
Gan bwys fy mai,
    a baich fy nghur,
  Yr wyf yn bur ofidus;
O Dduw, pa hyd ymguddi di,
  A'm henaid i'n drallodus?
(4)
Duw, gwared f'enaid, dychwel di,
  Iachâ fi â'th drugaredd;
Nid oes yn angeu gôf na hawl;
  A phwy a'th fawl
      o'r pridd-fedd?




(5)
Yr Arglywydd, clybu ef fy arch,
  Rhof finnau
      barch a moliant;
Fe dderbyn weddi'r tlawd
    a'i waedd,
  Am hyn fe haedd ogoniant.

gwelir:
  O Arglwydd na cherydda fi [MH]
  O Arglwydd na cherydda fi [Salm XXVIII]

(1)
O Lord, do not chastise me
  In the heat of thy wrath;
Nor punish me in thy anger,
  Because of my falsehood!
(2a)
O Lord, let thy mercy come!
  I am faint in languor daily;
O Lord, come, heal me swiftly,
  All my bones are in affliction.
(2b)
[O have mercy, my Lord! I am
   Wasting away through my grief;
 My broken bones, and my flesh,
     are every step,
   Shouting for thy healing.]
(3)
With the weight of my fault,
    and the burden of my beating,
  I am purely vexed;
O God, how long wilt thou hide thyself,
  While my soul is troubled?
(4)
God, deliver my soul, return,
  Heal me with thy mercy;
In death there is no memory or claim;
  And who will praise thee
      from the grave?




(5)
The Lord, he heard my entreaty,
  As for me,
      I will render honour and praise;
He will receive the prayer of the poor
    and his shout,
  For this he deserves glory.

 
 1 Thy dreadful anger, Lord, restrain,
     and spare a wretch forlorn;
   Correct me not in thy fierce wrath,
     too heavy to be borne.  
 
 2 Have mercy, Lord, for I grow faint,
     unable to endure,
   The anguish of my aching bones,
     which thou alone can cure.
 
[2 Have mercy, Lord, for I grow faint,
     unable to endure,
   The anguish of
        my aching bones,
     which thou alone can cure.]
 
 3 My tortured flesh
       distracts my mind,
     and fills my soul with grief;
   But, Lord, how long will thou delay
     to grant me thy relief? 
 
 4 Thy wonted goodness, Lord, repeat,
     and ease my troubled soul;
   Lord, for thy wondrous mercy's sake
     vouchsafe to make me whole.  
 5 For after death no more can I
     thy glorious acts proclaim;
   No pris'ner
       of the silent grave
     can magnify thy name.  
 
 9 He hears and grants my humble pray'r;
     and they
         that wish my fall,
10 Shall blush and rage
       to see that God
     protects me from them all.