Moliennwch Ior, - gwaith hyfryd yw
Dyrchafu'r llais i foli Duw;
  Ei natur a'i weithredoedd maith
  Sydd yn ein galw at y gwaith.

Efe a wnaeth
    holl ser y nef,
Mae'u rhif a'u henwau
    ganddo ef;
  Doethineb Duw sydd ddyfnder mawr,
  Lle sodda'n holl
      feddyliau ' lawr.

Moliennwch Ion, dyrchefwch ef,
Sy'n taenu tew
    gymylau'r nef,
  Ac yn darparu gwlaw a gwlith 
  Er dwyn bendithion fyrdd i'n plith. 

Y bryniau têg, a'r maesydd llawn,
Sy'n datgan fyth
    ei ddwyfol ddawn;
  Caiff pob creadur, yn ei ryw,
  Ei nawdd a'i gymhorth gan ein Duw.

Nid ymhyfryda'r Arglwydd Dduw
Yn ngallu'r un creadur byw, - 
  Yn mawredd
      rhagorolion byd, 
  Na gwychder
      anian fawr i gyd.

Ond saint sydd hawddgar ger ei fron,
Ei blant yw ei hyfrydwch llon;
  Eu gobaith gwêl,
      a'u hofnau gŵyr, 
  Ei ddelw arnynt hoffa'n llwyr.

cyf. Cas. o Hymnau ... Wesleyaidd 1844

Moliannwn Iôr,
    can's hyfryd yw
Dyrchafu'r llais i foli Duw; 
  Ei natur a'i weithredoedd maith
  Sydd yn ein galw at y gwaith.

Efe a wnaeth holl sêr y nef, 
Mae'u rhif a'u henwau ganddo ef;
  Doethineb Duw sydd ddyfnder mawr,
  Lle sudda'n holl feddyliau ' lawr.

Moliannwn a dyrchafwn Ef,
Sy'n taenu tew
    gymylau'r nef,
  Ac yn darparu gwlaw a gwlith,
  Er dwyn bendithion
      fyrdd i'n plith.

Y bryniau teg, a'r maesydd llawn,
Sy'n datgan fyth
    ei ddwyfol ddawn;
  Caiff pob creadur yn ei ryw,
  Ei nawdd a'i gymorth gan ein Duw.

Fy enaid deffro, 'nafod, cân
Ardderchog glod i'r Arglwydd glân;
  Hosanna i'r tragwyddol Dduw -
  Ei gariad Ef diderfyn yw.

Y saint sydd hawddgar ger ei fron,
Ei blant yw ei hyfrydwch llon;
  Eu gobaith gwêl,
      a'u hofnau gŵyr,
  Ei ddelw arnynt
      fyn yn llwyr.

Molianwn Iôr, can's hyfryd yw,
Dyrchafu'r llais i foli Duw;
  Ei natur a'i weithredoedd maith,
  Sydd yn ein galw at y gwaith.

Newyddion braf a ddaeth i'n bro,
Hwy haeddant gael eu dwyn ar go;
  Enillodd Iesu mawr y dydd,
  Caiff carcharorion fyn'd yn rhydd.

Mae Iesu Grist o'n hochr ni,
Tywalltodd ef ei waed yn lli,
  Trwy rinwedd hwn fe'n dwg yn iach
  I'r ochr draw 'mhen gronyn bach.

Wel f'enaid, weithian c'od dy ben,
Mae'r ffordd yn rhydd i'r nefoedd wen;
  Y mae'r gelynion oll yn awr,
  Mewn cadwyn gan dy Brynwr mawr.

gwelir: Newyddion braf a ddaeth i'n bro

Praise ye the Lord, - it is pleasant work
To raise the voice to praise God;
  His nature and his vast works
  Are calling us to the work.

He it is who made
    all the stars of heaven,
Their number and their
    names he has;
  The wisdom of God is a great deep,
  Where all our thoughts
      sink down.

Praise ye the Lord, lift him up,
Who strews the thick
    clouds of heaven,
  And prepares rain and dew
  To bring a myriad blessings amongst us.

The fair hills, and the full fields,
Do ever declare
    his divine skill;
  Every creature has, in its kind,
  Its protection and its help from our God.

The Lord God does not delight
In the ability of any living creature, -
  In the greatness of the
      world's excellent ones,
  Nor the excellence of a
      great nature at all.

But saints are amiable before him,
His children are his cheerful delight;
  Their hope he sees,
      and their fears he knows,
  His image upon them he loves completely.

Let us praise the Lord,
    for it is delightful
To raise the voice to praise God;
  His nature and his vast works
  Are calling us to the work.

He it is who made all the stars of heaven,
  Their number and their names he has;
The wisdom of God is a great deep,
  Where all our thoughts sink down.

Let us praise and exalt Him,
Who is spreading the thick
    clouds of heaven,
  And preparing rain and dew,
  In order to bring a myriad
      blessings among us.

The fair hill, and the full fields,
Are declaring forever
    his divine gift;
  Every creature will get in its kind,
  Its protection and help from our God.

My soul, awake, my tongue, sing
The excellent esteem to the holy Lord;
  Hosanna to the eternal God -
  His love is endless.

'Tis the saints who are lovely before him,
His children who are his cheerful delight;
  Their hope he sees,
      and their fears he knows,
  His image upon them he
      insists upon completely.

Let us praise the Lord, for it is delightful,
To raise the voice to praise God;
  His nature and his vast works,
  Are calling us to the work.

Good news has come to our region,
It deserves to be brought to mind;
  Great Jesus won the day,
  Prisoners shall get to go free.

Jesus Christ is on our side,
He poured out his blood as a flood,
  Through its merit he will lead us safely
  To yonder side in a little while.

See my soul, now raise thy head,
The way is open to the bright heavens;
  All the enemies are now,
  In chains by thy great Redeemer.

Praise ye the Lord; 'tis good to raise
Our hearts and voices in His praise;
  His nature and His works invite
  To make this duty our delight.

He formed the stars,
    those heav'nly flames;
He counts their numbers,
    calls their names;
  His wisdom's vast, and knows no bound,
  A deep where all our
      thoughts are drowned.

Sing to the Lord, exalt Him high,
Who spreads His clouds
    all round the sky;
  There He prepares the fruitful rain,
  Nor lets the drops descend in vain.

He makes the grass the hills adorn,
And clothes the smiling
    fields with corn;
  The beasts with food His hands supply,
  And the young ravens when they cry.

What is the creature's skill or force,
The sprightly man, the warlike horse,
  The nimble wit,
       the active limb?
  All are too mean
      delights for Him.

But saints are lovely in His sight,
He views His children with delight;
  He sees their hope,
      He knows their fear,
  And looks, and loves His image there.

Praise ye the Lord;
    'tis good to raise
Our hearts and voices in His praise;
  His nature and His works invite
  To make this duty our delight.

He formed the stars, those heav'nly flames;
He counts their numbers, calls their names;
  His wisdom's vast, and knows no bound,
  A deep where all our thoughts are drowned.

Sing to the Lord, exalt Him high,
Who spreads His clouds
    all round the sky;
  There He prepares the fruitful rain,
  Nor lets the drops
      descend in vain.

He makes the grass the hills adorn,
And clothes the smiling
    fields with corn;
  The beasts with food His hands supply,
  And the young ravens when they cry.

What is the creature's skill or force,
The sprightly man, the warlike horse,
  The nimble wit, the active limb?
  All are too mean delights for Him.

But saints are lovely in His sight,
He views His children with delight;
  He sees their hope,
      He knows their fear,
  And looks, and loves
      His image there.

Let us praise the Lord, for it is delightful,
To raise the voice to praise God;
  His nature and his vast works,
  Are calling us to the work.