O flaen y fainc mil miloedd mae,
Pwrcas ei waed, ei chwys,
a'i wae:
Y dyrfa fawr fu gynt ar goll,
Yn awr yn gorfoleddu oll.
Mae yno hen brophwydi hy',
Gynt wedi dringo i'r nefoedd fry;
Yn hardd eu lliw mewn gynau lla's,
Yn ddysglaer fel y gwydr glâs.
'R hen wyliedyddion yno y'nt,
'Nghyd â'r offeiriaid santaidd gynt;
Y patriarchiaid oll eu gyd,
Fu'n bererinion yn y byd.
Y gwaredigion Israel sy,
O bob rhyw lwyth yn moli fry;
Caethion o'r Aipht, o Babel fawr,
Ac o Assyria sy' yno'n awr.
Pob un â'i goron ar ei ben,
Yn ddisglair yn y nefoedd wen,
Mewn gynau gwyn hardd iawn eu gwaith,
Bar'tow'd er trag'wyddoldeb maith.
Dyma werth gwaed
yr Iesu gwiw,
Brenhinoedd ac offeiriaid Duw;
Bîaen ffrwyth o'r dyrfa
ddaw trwy ras,
O gystudd mawr y byd i maes.
Yno mae'r apostolion mawr,
A'u gwisgoedd llaes
hyd at y llawr;
Yn canu'n beraidd i Fab Maìr,
Am dyrfa gredodd yn ei gair.
Myrddiynau o ferthyron hy',
A wnawd trwy dân yn ulw du;
Ysgubion byd ddioddefodd bo'n,
Tros air Dww ag efengyl Ion.
Babanod bychain yno sy',
Fu feirw'n ddistaw yn y bru;
A rhai ddifethodd cleddau gìâs,
Yn newydd dd'od o'r groth i maes.
O flaen y faingc mae tyrfa faith,
O bob rhyw bobloedd,
llwyth ac iaith;
Yn awr yn cael heb boen na briw
Wyneb yn wyneb weled Duw.
Eu dagrau oll a sychwyd ffwrdd,
Galar a thristwch
byth nis cwrdd;
Ni ddaw marwolaeth mwy na phoen,
I ŵydd y croeshoeliedig Oen.
Priodferch Iesu ydyw rhai'n,
A wisgwyd oll â lliain main;
Yn edrych ar ei wedd bob awr,
Yn nghanol y gogoniant mawr.
Gwynfyd fa'i 'mhlith y miloedd myrdd,
Sy'n awr yn dal y palmwydd gwyrdd;
O, Arglwydd da, dywed a ga'i,
I fod yn un o'r dysglaer rai?
Tonau [MH 8888]:
gwelir: |
Before the throne are a thousand thousand,
The purchase of his blood,
his sweat and his woe:
The great throng who were once lost,
Now all rejoicing.
Old bold prophets are there,
Who once climbed up to heaven;
Beautiful their colour in soft gowns,
Shining like the blue glas.
The old watchers are there,
Together with the sacred priests of old;
All the patriarchs together,
Who were pilgrims in the world.
The delivered ones of Israel who are
Of every kind of tribe praising above;
Captives from Egypt, from great Babylon,
And from Assyria are there now.
Every one with his crown on his head,
Shining in the bright heavens,
In white gowns of very beautiful work,
Prepared for a vast eternity.
Behold the worth of the blood
of worthy Jesus,
Kings and priests of God;
The firstfruits of the throng
that shall come through grace,
The great apostles are there,
With their soft garments
down to the ground;
Singing sweetly to the Son of Mary,
About a throng who believed in his word.
Myriads of bold martyrs,
Who were made through fire into black ash;
The sweeping of a world who suffered pain,
For God's word and the Master's gospel.
Little children are there,
Who died quietly in the uterus;
And those whom the keen sword destroyed,
Newly come out from the womb.
Before the throne is a vast throng,
Of every kind of peoples,
tribe and language;
Now getting without pain or wound
Face to face to see God.
All their tears were dried away,
Lamenting and sadness
they never shall meet;
No death or pain shall any longer come
To the presence of the crucified Lamb
The bride of Jesus are these,
Who were all dressed with fine linen;
Looking on his countenance every hour,
In the middle of the great glory.
Blessed shall I be among
the myriad thousands
Who are now holding the green palm;
O good Lord, tell whether I shall get
To be one of the shining ones.
tr. 2015,23 Richard B Gillion |
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