R(h)yfeddol gwel'd Creadwdwr

Ryfeddol gwel'd Creadwdwr,
  Cynnaliwr cỳrai'r ne'
Mewn preseb gwael ym Methl'em,
  Yn isel iawn ei le;
Yr hwn a greodd fydoedd -
  Ar gylchoedd gyda gair,
Ei hun yn faban addfwyn,
  Ar lîn y Forwyn Fair!

Yr hwn sy'n meddu'r cyfan,
  Pechenog pur pob peth,
Heb geiniog yn ei lawgell,
  Un waith i dalu treth;
Hwn oedd, hwn sydd yn eistedd
  Ar uchel orsedd nef,
Yn marchog ar yr asyn
  At gaerau Salem dref!

Wrth weled Iesu perffaith
  Ei hun mor wael ei fri,
Paham a mi'n bechadur,
  Mwy yr ymffrostiaf fi?
Fy ymborth, dillad, iechyd,
  A'm lletty clyd di fraw,
Sy roddion da cysurus
  Ei gref haelionus law.

Paham yr ymfalchïaf
  Mewn gwisgiad how-wych hardd?
Mae gwisgsy fwy ei harddwch
  Gan lili yn yr ardd:
Ieuenctid a ddiflanna;
  A gwiwlan gewch gwedd,
A syrth yn borthiant pryfed,
  Yn isel barthau'r bedd!

Amazing to see the Creator,
  The Upholder of the corners of heaven
In a poor manger in Bethlehem,
  Very lowly his place;
He who created worlds -
  In orbits with a word,
Himself as a gentle baby,
  On the lap of the Virgin Mary!

He who possesses the whole,
  The pure Owner of every thing,
Without a penny in his pocket,
  Once to pay a tax;
He was, he who is sitting
  On the high throne of heaven,
Riding on an ass
  To the fortresses of Salem town!

On seeing perfect Jesus
  Himself so poor of esteem,
Why should I a sinner,
  Any more boast?
My sustenance, clothing, health,
  And my secure, fear-free lodging,
Are good, comforting gifts
  Of his strong, generous hand.

Why should I be proud
  In brilliantly gay, beautiful garments?
The dress which has more beauty
  Is that of a lily in the garden:
Youth will disappear;
  And an pleasant, fair countenance,
Will fall as the sustenance of worms,
  In the low parts of the grave!