O Greenland rewlyd gribog

O Greenland rewlyd gribog,
  O draeth yr India goeth,
Lle treigla ffrydiau heulog,
  Lwch aur trwy Affrig boeth;
O lan aml afon lydan,
  O lawer gwastad brâs,
Hwy'n galwant i'w dwyn allan
  O garchar geuffydd gâs.

Beth er i'r pêr awelon
  Dros Java chwythu'n hael;
Pob golwg yn gysurlon,
  A dyn ei hun yn wael;
Mae'n ofer trwy haelioni
  Gael rhoddion Duw ar daen,
A'r Ethnig yn ei ddellni
  Yn plygu'i bren a maen.

Oes modd i ni, oleuwyd
  A gwawl o'r nefoedd fry,
Nacâu goleuni'r bywyd
  I ddynion mewn nos ddu?
Iechineb, O Iechineb!
  Hyfrydlais i'r byd trist!
Cyhoedder dros ei wyneb
  Felusaf enw Crist.

Chwi wyntoedd, ewch a'r chwedyl;
  Chwi ddyfroedd, treiglwch hon;
Fel môr o hedd, Efengyl
  A gylcho'r ddaear gron;
A thros yr holl hîl ddynol,
  Yr Oen ga'dd farwol glwy',
Gwaredwr, Brenin grasol,
  Mewn bri teyrnased mwy.

From icy, crested Greenland,
  From the beach of cultured India,
Where sunny streams trundle
  The golden dust through hot Africa;
From the bank of many a wide river,
  From many a sumptuous plain,
They are calling to be brought out
  From a detestable prison dungeon.

What though sweet breezes
  Across Java blow generously;
Every view comforting,
  And man himself poor;
It is futile through generosity
  To get God's gifts widespread
And the Ethnic in his blindness
  Bowing to wood and stone.

Is there a means for us, enlightened
  With the light of heaven above,
To deny the light of life
  To men in the black night?
    Salvation, O salvation!
  A delightful voice to the sad world!
To be published across its face is
  The sweetest name of Christ.

Ye winds, take the story;
  Ye waters, roll this;
Like a sea of peace, a Gospel
  Which would wash the round earth;
And for all the human race,
  The Lamb got a mortal wound,
Deliverer, gracious King,
  In esteem let him reign ever more.

From Greenland's icy mountains,
  From India's coral strand;
Where Afric's sunny fountains
  Roll down their golden sand:
From many an ancient river,
  From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
  Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes
  Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
  And only man is vile?
In vain with lavish kindness
  The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness
  Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we, whose souls are lighted
  With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to those benighted
  The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! O salvation!
  The joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth's remotest nation
  Has learned Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,
  And you, ye waters, roll
Till, like a sea of glory,
  It spreads from pole to pole:
Till o'er our ransomed nature
  The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, king, creator,
  In bliss returns to reign.