Pan oeddym gaeth yn Babilon

Pan oeddym gaeth yn Babilon,
  Ar lan prif afon groyw,
Mewn coffadwriaeth am Sïon,
  Hidlasom ddagrau'n loyw.

Rhoddasom ein telynau 'nghrog
  Ar goed canghenog irion,
Lle yr oedd preniau helyg plan
  Oddeutu glan yr afon.

Can's yno y gofynodd rhai
  In' am ganiadau Sïon;
Ac am lawenydd (hyn sydd wir)
  Gan ein gorthrymwyr creulon.

O Dduw, pa fodd y canai neb
  (Rhoem ateb yn ystyriol)
I chwi o gerdd ein Harglwydd Dad,
  A ni mewn gwlad estronol?


Os â Caersalem o'r côf mau,

  Anghofied dehau ganu:

Na throed fy nhafod, oni bydd

  Hi'n ben llawenydd i mi.

           - - - - -

Pan oeddym gaeth yn Babilon,
  Ar lan prif afon groew,
Mewn coffadwriaeth am Sïon,
  Hidlasom ddagrau'n loew.

Rhoddasom ein telynau yn nghrôg,
  Ar goed canghenog irion,
Lle yr oedd prenau helyg plan
  O ddeutu glan yr afon.

Y rhai an dug i garchar caeth,
  I ni yn ffraeth gofynent,
Am hen ganiadau per Sïon,
  Fel hyn y'n creulawn wawdient.

Pa fodd yn awr, y canai neb
  (Rhoem ateb yn ystyriol)
I chwi o gerdd ein Harglwydd Dad,
  A ni mewn gwlad estronol?


Os â yn angof Salem draw,

  Anghofied dwylaw ganu;

Na throed fy nhafod, oni bydd

  Hi'n ben llawenydd imi.

When we were captive in Babilon
  On the banks of the clear main river,
In remembrance of Zion,
  We streamed bright tears.

We put our harps hanging
  On fresh, branched trees,
Where willow trees were planted
  Beside the bank of the river.

Since there some asked
  Us for the songs of Zion;
And for joy (this is true)
  By our cruel oppressors.

O God, how can anyone sing
  (Let us response considerately)
To you from the music of our Lord Father,
  And us in a strange land?


If Jerusalem should go from my memory,

  May it forget the skill to sing:

May my tongue not turn, unless

  She be my chief joy.

                - - - - -

When we were captive in Babylon,
  On the banks of the clear main river,
In remembrance of Zion,
  We streamed bright tears.

We put our harps hanging
  On fresh, branched trees,
Where willow trees were planted
  Beside the bank of the river.

Those who took us captive to prison,
  Would ask us frivolously,
About the sweet old songs of Zion,
  Thus cruelly they would taunt us.

How now could anyone sing
  (Let us respond considerately)
To you from the music of our Lord Father,
  And us in a strange land?


If yonder Jerusalem should be forgotten,

  Let the skill of singing be forgotten;

May my tongue not turn, unless

  She be my chief joy.

1 When we, our wearied limbs to rest,
    sat down by proud Euphrates' stream,
  We wept, with doleful thoughts oppressed,
    and Zion was our mournful theme.

2 Our harps, that when with joy we sung,
    were wont their tuneful parts to bear,
  With silent strings neglected hung
    on willow trees that withered there.

3 Meanwhile our foes, who all conspired
    to triumph in our slavish wrongs,
  Music and mirth of us required;
    "Come, sing us one of Zion's songs."

4 How shall we tune our voice to sing?
    or touch our harps with skilful hands?
  Shall hymns of joy to God our King
    be sung by slaves in foreign lands?

5 O Salem, our once happy seat !
    when I of thee forgetful prove,
  Let then my trembling hand forget
    the speaking strings with art to move.

6 If I to mention thee forbear,
    eternal silence seize my tongue;
  Or if I sing one cheerful air,
    till thy deliv'rance is my song.
                 - - - - -

1 When we, our wearied limbs to rest,
    sat down by proud Euphrates' stream,
  We wept, with doleful thoughts oppressed,
    and Zion was our mournful theme.

2 Our harps, that when with joy we sung,
    were wont their tuneful parts to bear,
  With silent strings neglected hung
    on willow trees that withered there.

3 Meanwhile our foes, who all conspired
    to triumph in our slavish wrongs,
  Music and mirth of us required;
    "Come, sing us one of Zion's songs."

4 How shall we tune our voice to sing?
    or touch our harps with skilful hands?
  Shall hymns of joy to God our King
    be sung by slaves in foreign lands?

5 O Salem, our once happy seat !
    when I of thee forgetful prove,
  Let then my trembling hand forget
    the speaking strings with art to move.

6 If I to mention thee forbear,
    eternal silence seize my tongue;
  Or if I sing one cheerful air,
    till thy deliv'rance is my song.