Tydi, 'r Hwn mae fy enaid drud
Yn hoffi uwchlaw holl bethau'r byd,
  Mynega i mi, fy Mugail mwyn,
  Pa le'r wyt yn bugeilio'th ŵyn.

Pa le mae'r graig, pan fyddo gwres,
Sy'n cadw'r defaid rhag y tês?
  Yn nghyd â'th braidd mae f'enaid prudd
  Yn chwenych gorphwys ganol dydd.

Paham, fy Arglwydd, rhaid i mi
Droi heibio o'th ddiadell di?
  'Dyw f'enaid gwan yn chwenych bod
  Yn eiddo i neb
      ond Crist a'i nôd.

Dilynaf fi ôl troed y praidd,
I 'mofyn am dy bêr borfeydd;
  Gwledd wych i'm henaid
      yno câf,
  O bob danteithion
      breision braf.
  [Caf yno ryfedd
       wledd yn rhad,
   Gwerth dy riddfannau'th
       glwyfau a'th wa'd.]

Dy anwyl gnawd sydd fwyd yn wir,
A'th werthfawr waed yn ddiod bur;
  A rhai'n y porthir f'enaid byw,
  Nes myned adref at fy Nuw.

Thou, He whom my dear soul
Loves above all things of the world,
  Tell me, my gentle Shepherd,
  Where thou art shepherding thy lambs.

Where is the rock, when it be hot,
Which keeps the sheep from the heat?
  Together with thy flock my sad soul is
  Longing for the rest of midday.

Why, my Lord, must I
Turn away from thy herd?
  My weak soul does not want to be
  Belonging to anyone
      but Christ and his mark.

I will follow the footprints of the flock,
To ask for thy sweet pasture;
  A brilliant feast for my soul
      there I will get,
  Of all good,
      dainty morsels.
  [I will get there a
       wonderful feast freely,
   The worth of thy groans,
       thy wounds and thy blood.]

Thy beloved flesh is food truly,
And thy precious blood is pure drink;
  And those shall feed my living soul,
  Until going home to my God.

Thou whom my soul admires above
All earthly joy and earthly love,
  Tell me, dear Shepherd, let me know,
  Where do Thy sweetest pastures grow?

Where is the shadow of that rock
That from the sun defends Thy flock?
  Fain would I feed among Thy sheep
  Among them rest, among them sleep.

Why should Thy bride appear like one
That turns aside to paths unknown?
  My constant feet would never rove,
  Would never seek
      another love.

The footsteps of Thy flock I see;
Thy sweetest pastures here they be;
  A wondrous feast
      thy love prepares,
  Bought with Thy wounds,
      and groans, and tears.
  [A wondrous feast thy
       love prepares,
   Bought with Thy wounds,
       and groans, and tears.]

His dearest flesh He makes my food,
And bids me drink His richest blood:
  Here to these hills my soul will come,
  Till my belovèd lead me home.