O na byddai cariad Iesu

O na byddai cariad Iesu,
  Megys fflam angerddol gref,
Yn fy nghalon i'w chynnesu,
  Fel y carwn innau Ef;
O na chawn i brofi nerthol
  Weithrediadau'r Ysbryd Glân,
Fel y gallwn yn wastadol,
  Yn lle cwyno, seinio cân!

Oer a marwaidd yw fy nghalon,
  Gwàn a diffrwyth yw pob gras;
O na chwythai yr awelon
  Sydd yn gwywo llygredd cas;
Dyred, Iesu bendigedig,
  Bugail mawr y defaid oll,
Dychwel f'enaid gwrthgiliedig, -
  O na âd im' fyn'd ar goll.

Gwna fy enaid fel cerbydau
  Amminadib, buain iawn,
Gâd im' gael dy ymweliadau,
  Llanw fi â'th nefol ddawn:
Yn y gwin-dŷ gâd im' wledda,
  Dan dy faner, cariad yw;
Megys Brenin mawr gorsedda
  Yn fy nghalon, O fy Nuw!

Gwna fi'n ffrwythlawn yn fy henaint,
  Tirf ac iraidd gâd im' fod,
Dan y gwlith a'r nefol ennaint,
  Gwna_imi rodio er dy glod;
O na âd im' ymgaledu,
  Na diffrwytho yn dy dŷ,
Trin fi, Arglwydd, nes addfedu
  F'enaid i'r ardaloedd fry.

Mi chwenychwn'n awr gael clywed
  Sain caniadau'r dyrfa lân,
Telynrion a cherddorion
  Penna'r nef yn dyblu'r gân:
"Dewch â'r Haleliwia uchel,
  Dewch â'r moliant, dewch â'r bri,
Dewch â'r clodydd oll yn gryno
  Byth i'n hoff Iachawdwr ni!"

O that I would love Jesus,
  Like a strong, ardent flame,
In my heart to warm it,
  That thus I would love him;
O that I would get to experience the
  Strong actions of the Holy Sprit,
That thus I would be able constantly,
  Instead of complaining, sound a song!

Cold and morbid is my heart,
  Weak and fruitless is every grace;
O that the breezes would blow
  Which are withering detestable corruption;
Come, blessed Jesus,
  The great Shepherd of all the sheep,
Return my backslidden soul, -
  Do not let me get lost.

Make my soul like the chariots
  Of Amminadab, very swift,
Let me get thy visits,
  Fill me with thy heavenly gift:
In the wine-house let me feast,
  Under thy banner, there is love;
Like a great King sit
  In my heart, O my God!

Make me fruitful in my old age,
  Luxuriant and fresh let me be,
Under the dew and the heavenly anointing,
  Make me walk for thy acclaim;
Oh, do not let become hard,
  Nor become unfruitful in thy house,
Treat me, Lord, until my soul
  Matures, to the regions above.

I would crave now to get to hear
  The sound of the songs of the holy throng,
The chief harpists and musicians
  Of heaven doubling the song:
"Come ye with the loud Hallelujah,
  Come ye with the acclaim, come ye with the esteem,
Come ye with the praises all trembling
 Forever to our dear Saviour!"