O cyfod f'enaid fynu/fyny 'hed

O cyfod f'enaid fynu 'hed,
A thrwy'r heolydd nefol rhed,
  A dywed nad oes
      dim dan haul,
  A dal dy drafferth di na'th draul.

[O, cyfod, f'enaid, fyny hêd,
 A thrwy'r heolydd nefol rhêd;
  A gwel nad oes
      o dan yr haul
  Un gwrthddrych dâl ei garu i'w gael.]

O hedwn yno ar adain ffydd
I wel'd y fath ogoniant fydd;
  Na adawn i'r byd a'i bethau gwael
  Y lleiaf o'n serchiadau gael.

Ar uchel fainc y nefol wlad,
Teyrnasa'r Hollalluog Dad;
  A thywallt ei ddaioni'n llon
  Ar holl wastadedd dedwydd hon.

Ac fel haul dysglaer ganol dydd,
Ein Prynwr anwyl yno sydd;
  Prydnawn na nos nid oes i'r fan,
  Nac achos wrth y lleuad wan.

Y'nghanol y fro ddysglaer fry,
Y g'lomen santaidd yno sy';
  A phoen a phechod ymaith ffô'nt,
  I wlad y cariad byth ni ddont.

Ardderchog ddeiliaid y fan hon,
Sy'n plygu o ddeutu'r orsedd lon;
  Cerubiaid tanllyd a'r holl saint,
  Moli'r anfeidrol Drindod maent.

Ond O'r fath byst o nefol ras
Fydd yn diddanu'r nefol dras!
  Deng mil o wenau o wyneb Crist,
  Fel nad oes yno enaid trist.

Pa bryd fy Iesu y daw'r dydd,
A'r hyfryd awr
    i'm gwneyd yn rhydd;
  Pan gaffwyf ado'r tŷ o glai,
  I drigo 'mhlith y cyfryw rai?

O arise, my soul, fly up,
And through the heavenly streets run,
  And say that there is
      nothing under the sun,
  That holds thy trouble nor thy spending.

[O, arise, my soul, fly up,
 And through the heavenly streets run;
   And see that there is
       not under the sun,
   Any object to continue to be loved.]

O let us fly there on wings of faith
To see the kind of glory there shall be;
  Nor let us leave to the world
      and its poor things
  The least of our available affections.

On a high throne of the heavenly land,
The Almighty Father reigns;
  And pours his goodness cheerfully
  On all this constant happiness.

And like the shining sun of midday,
Our dear Redeemer is there;
  Afternoon or night the place has
  No need for the weak moon.

In the middle of the shining vale above,
The holy dove there is;
  And pain and sin flee away,
  To the land of love they never come.

The excellent tenants of that place,
Are bowing around the cheerful throne;
  Fiery cherubs and all the saints,
  Praising the infinite Trinity they are.

But O, what kind of post of heavenly grace
Shall be comforting the heavenly lineage!
  Ten thousand smiles from Christ's face,
  That there be there no sad soul.

When, my Jesus, will the day come,
And the delightful hour
    for me to be made free?
  When I will get to leave the house of clay,
  To climb amongst such as those?

Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run
Through every heav'nly street,
  And say, there's
      naught below the sun
  That's worthy of thy feet.

[Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run
 Through every heav'nly street,
   And say, there's
       naught below the sun
   That's worthy of thy feet.]

Thus will we mount on sacred wings,
 And tread the courts above;
   Nor earth, nor all
       her mightiest things,
   Shall tempt our meanest love.

There on a high majestic throne
Th' Almighty Father reigns,
  And sheds his glorious goodness down
  On all the blissful plains.

Bright like a sun the Saviour sits,
And spreads eternal noon;
  No evenings there, nor gloomy nights,
  To want the feeble moon.

Amidst those ever-shining skies,
Behold the sacred Dove!
  While banished sin and sorrow flies
  From all the realms of love.

The glorious tenants of the place
Stand bending round the throne;
  And saints and seraphs sing and praise
  The infinite Three One.

But O! what beams of heav'nly grace
Transport them all the while
  Ten thousand smiles from Jesus' face,
   And love in every smile!

Jesus! and when shall that dear day,
That joyful hour,
    appear,
  When I shall leave this house of clay,
  To dwell amongst them there?