Ffarwel i'r byd a'i gystudd blin

Ffarwel i'r byd
    a'i gystudd blin,
Ei barch a'i olud yn gytūn;
  'Dyw ei anrhydedd mwy, na'i wae,
  Ond tros funudyn yn parhau.

Ond mi ā'i 'mofyn trysor draw,
Na welodd llygad, theimlodd llaw;
  Sy 'nghadw'n y cyfammod drud,
  Ac nid yn nghreigydd oer y byd.

Ar ben Calfaria un prydnawn,
Y daeth fy nghyfoeth i mi'n llawn;
  Ac fyth caiff bellach f'enaid gwan,
  I lawenychu yn ei ran.

Fy nghlustiau cauad bellach wnai,
Rhag twrf y byd,
    ei glod a'i wae;
  Ond mi a dreulia'm dyddiau maes,
  Mewn myfyr ar drysorau gras.

Farewell to the world and
    its grievous affliction,
Its reverence and its wealth altogether;
  No more is its honour, or its woe,
  Enduring but for a minute.

But I shall go seeking treasure yonder,
That eye has not seen, nor hand felt;
  Which keeps me in the precious covenant,
  And not in the cold rocks of the world.

On the summit of Calvary one afternoon,
Came my wealth to me fully;
  And ever more shall my weak soul get,
  To rejoice in its portion.

My ears closed henceforth shall be,
From the clamour of the world,
    its praise and its woe,
  But I shall spend out my days,
  In meditation on the treasures of grace.