Yn hwyr y dydd ein Harglwydd da

Yn hwyr y dydd, ein Harglwydd da,
  Bu'r cleifion gynt o'th gylch yn cwrdd;
A deuent,
    O! mor drwm eu plâ,
  Ond O! mor llawen aent i ffwrdd.

Daeth eto hwyr, a dyma ni
  Dan faich o
      flinder, pryder, braw;
Pa waeth na wê'l ein llygaid Di,
  A ninau'n teimlo'th fed gerllaw.

Gwasgara'n gwae â'th ddwyfol ddawn;
  Rhai'n glwyfus, rhai'n alarus ŷnt;
Rhai heb erioed Dy garu'n iawn,
  Rhai wedi colli eu cariad gynt.

A rhai, er cael
    mai gwâg yw'r byd,
  O'r byd er hyn
      nid ymryddhânt,
A rhai, er siom
    mewn câr, o hyd
  Dy geisio Di yn gâr nis gwnant.

A chwbwl esmwyth neb nid yw;
  Y galon becha, lin yw hon:
A'r sawl it' lwyraf fynnai fyw,
  Sy'n teimlo fwyaf ddrwg ei fron.

Rwyt Tithau'n ddyn, O! Geidwad gwiw,
  A flinwyd, brofwyd, yn ein byd:
A'th dreiddgar drem a wêl y brw
  A fynnai c'wilwydd guddio i gyd.

Yr un o hyd yw'th allu mawr;
  Ac nid â gair o'th eiddo ar goll:
Ar hon, ddifrifol hwyrol awr,
  Clyw, Arglwydd, ac iachâ ni oll.

Late in the day, our good Lord,
  The sick were once around thee meeting;
And they would come,
    O how heavy their disease,
  But oh how joyfully they would go away.

It is getting late again, and here we are
  Under the burden of
      weariness, worry, fear;
No matter that we see not Thy eyes,
  We do feel thy being at hand.

Dispel our woe with thy divine art;
  Some wounded, some mournful are;
Some without ever having loved thee well,
  Some having lost their former love.

And some, although finding
    that vain is the world,
  From the world, despite this,
     do not free themselves,
And some, despite disappointment
    in love, still
  Do not seek Thee in love.

There is no complete ease for anyone;
  The heart that sins, weary is this:
And those who most to thee would live,
  Feel the greatest evil of their breast.

Thou also art man, O worthy Saviour!
  Who wast grieved, tried, in our world:
And thy piercing gaze shall see the bruise
  Which shame would all insist on hiding.

Still the same is thy great power;
  And not a word of thine goes lost:
At this solemn evening hour,
  Hear, Lord, and heal us all.

At even, ere the sun was set,
  The sick, Lord, around Thee lay;
Oh, in what divers
    pains they met!
  Oh, with what joy they went away!

Once more 'tis eventide, and we,
  Oppressed with various
      ills, draw near;
What if Thy form we cannot see;
  We know and feel that Thou art here.

O Saviour Christ, our woes dispel:
  For some are sick, and some are sad,
And some have never loved Thee well,
  And some have lost the love they had.

And some have found
    the world is vain,
  Yet from the world
      they break not free;
And some have friends
    who give them pain,
  Yet have not sought a friend in Thee.

And none, O Lord, have perfect rest,
  For none are wholly free from sin;
And they who fain would serve Thee best
  Are conscious most of wrong within.

O Saviour Christ, Thou too art man;
  Thou has been troubled, tempted, tried;
Thy kind but searching glance can scan
  The very wounds that shame would hide.

Thy touch has still its ancient power;
  No word from Thee can fruitless fall:
Hear in this solemn evening hour,
  And in Thy mercy heal us all.