O'r holl gadwedig lu

1,2,3,(4,(5,6)).
(Mawl i Grist am ei eiriolaeth)
  O'r holl gadwedig lu,
    Sy'n teithio i Salem lân,
  Myfi yw'r mwyaf du,
    Ar bawb yn dwyn y blaen:
Tragwyddol ras, na buasai'm nyth,
Mewn cadwyn byth yn uffern dân.

  Er hyn nid ofnaf mwy,
    Er cynddrwg yw fy ngwedd,
  Ca'dd bechod farwol glwy',
    Gan Iesu glân a'i gledd:
Mae'r ddraig yn friw
      dan draed fy Nghrist,
Mae i'm henaid trist
      dragwyddol wledd.

  Efe yw'm Meichiai mawr,
    O flaen gorsedd-fainc Iôn,
  Sy'n eiriol bob yr awr,
    Gan gofio ei ddirfawr boen;
Pa'm 'r ofnaf mwy?
      mae'n llifo 'ma's,
I orsedd gras
      bur waed yr Oen.

  Mae briw y bicell fain,
    A thyllau'r hoelion dûr,
  Ac ol y goron ddrain,
    A chŵysau'r groes
          a'i chûr,
Yn dadleu nerth
      cyfiawnder Naf,
Dros f'enaid claf am heddwch pur.

  Dioddefaint Iesu Grist
    Orchfygodd lid Duw Iôn;
  Pob peth rŷ'm henaid trist,
    Wrth feddwl am ei boen:
Fy unig sail y bydd e'n Dduw,
Im' tra f'wy' byw
      sy'n Ngwaed yr Oen.

  Anfeidrol ryfedd yw
    Cael teimlo ei gariad rhâd;
  Pa'm 'r ofnaf tra f'wyf byw?
    Fe'm prynodd Crist a'i waed:
Tr'wy' ar y dda'r,
      mi wnâf fy nŷth
I orphwys byth yn nghôl fy Nhâd.
teithio :: ffoi

Mae i'm henaid trist dragwyddol wledd ::    
    I'm henaid trist mae bythol hedd.

William Williams 1717-91

Tonau [666688]:
Alun (John Ambrose Lloyd 1815-74)
Bethesda (<1835)
Bombay (<1869)
Grove (<1811)
Swithen's (Psalmodia Evangelica 1789)

(Praise to Christ for his intercession)
 Of all the saved host,
    Who are travelling to holy Salem,
  I am the most black,
    Over everyone in the lead:
Eternal grace, that my nest should not be,
In chains forever in hell fire.

  Therefore I shall fear no more,
    Despite how evil is my condition,
  Sin got a mortal wound,
    By holy Jesus and his sword:
The dragon is bruised
      under the feet of my Christ,
There is for my sad soul
      an eternal feast.

  He is my great Surety,
    Before the throne of the Lord,
  Who is interceding every hour,
    Remembering his enormous pain;
Why shall I fear anymore?
      There is streaming out,
To the throne of grace,
      the pure blood of the Lamb.

  The wound of the sharp spear,
    And the holes of the steel nails,
  And the mark of the crown of thorns,
    And the furrows of the cross
          and its anguish, are
Arguing the strength of
      of the Master's righteousness,
For my wounded soul for pure peace.

  The suffering of Jesus Christ
    Overcame the wrath of God the Lord;
  Everything that makes my soul sad,
    On thinking about his pain:
My only foundation, that he shall be God
To me while ever I live,
      is the blood of the Lamb.

  An immeasurable wonder it is
    To get to fee his free love;
  Why shall I fear while every I live?
    Christ redeemed me with his blood:
While I am on the earth,
      I will make my nest
To rest forever in the bosom of my Father.
travelling :: fleeing

There is for my sad soul an eternal feast ::    
    For my sad soul there is eternal peace.

tr. 2017 Richard B Gillion


The middle column is a literal translation of the Welsh. A Welsh translation is identified by the abbreviation 'cyf.' (emulation by 'efel.'), an English translation by 'tr.'

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