Tyred sanctaidd Ysbryd cu

Tyred sanctaidd Ysbryd cu
Anfon arnom oddi fry
  Lewyrch pur y Ddwyfol wawr;
Tyred, Dad amddifaid gwael,
Tyred, Roddwr doniau hael,
  Rho dy wenau inni'n awr.

Ti'r Diddanydd gorau sydd
Yn ein cynnal nos a dydd,
  Ti yw'n cymorth ar y daith;
Hyfryd hedd i'r
    llesg a'r blin,
Noddfa glyd rhag gwres yr hin,
  Newydd nerth mewn anial maith.

Gwynfydedig Olau gwiw,
Gwawria ar y galon friw,
  Llanw hi â'th ras yn awr;
Heb dy wedd nid oes gan ddyn
Ddim yn sanctaidd ynddo'i hun -
  Dim dihalog ar y llawr.

Gwella'n clwyfau trwy dy ras,
Doed dy wlith i'r anial cras,
  Ymlid haint
      pechodau oes;
Plyg y galon gyndyn hon,
A gwresoga serch y fron,
  Dwg y crwydryn at y Groes.

I'r ffyddloniaid, dorf ddiri',
Sydd yn disgwyl wrthyt ti,
  Rho dy saith sancteiddiol ddawn;
Rho i rinwedd wobrwy clir,
Dyro iachawdwriaeth wir,
  A llawenydd nef yn llawn.

Come, dear Holy Spirit,
Send upon us from above
  The pure radiance of the divine dawn;
Come, Father of poor orphans,
Come, Giver of generous gifts,
  Give thy smiles to us now.

Thou the best Comforter art,
Upholding us night and day,
  Thou art our help on the journey;
Delightful peace to the
    feeble and the weary,
Secure refuge from the heat of the weather,
  New strength in a vast desert.

Blessed, worthy Light,
Dawn on the bruised heart,
  Fill it with thy grace now;
Without thy countenance, no man has
Anything holy within himself -
  Nothing unspotted in the world.

Heal our wounds through thy grace,
Let thy dew come to the parched desert,
  Chase away the infection
      of the sins of an age;
Bend this stubborn heart,
And warm the affection of the breast,
  Bring the stray to the cross.

To the faithful, a numberless throng,
Who are waiting for thee,
  Give thy seven sacred gifts;
Give to virtue a clir reward,
Grant true salvation,
  And the joy of heaven in full.

Come, thou Holy Spirit, come,
And from thy celestial home
  Shed a ray of light divine;
Come, thou Father of the poor,
Come, thou source of all our store,
  Come, within our hearts to shine.

Thou of comforters the best,
Thou the soul's most welcome guest,
  Sweet refreshment here below;
In our labour rest
    most sweet,
Grateful coolness in the heat,
  Solace in the midst of woe.

O most blessèd Light divine,
Shine within these hearts of thine,
  And our inmost being fill;
Where thou art not, man hath naught,
Nothing good in deed or thought,
  Nothing free from taint of ill.

Heal our wounds; our strength renew;
On our dryness pour thy dew;
  Wash the stains
      of guilt away;
Bend the stubborn heart and will;
Melt the frozen, warm the chill;
  Guide the steps that go astray.

On the faithful, who adore
And confess thee, evermore
  In thy sevenfold gifts descend:
Give them virtue's sure reward,
Give them thy salvation, Lord,
  Give them joys that never end.

from the Latin
Veni Sancte Spiritus

Tune [777D]: Veni Sancte Spiritus
    (Samuel Webbe 1740-1816)