Ein Duw ein nerth drwy'r oesau fu

Ein Duw, ein nerth
    drwy'r oesau fu,
  Ein gobaith am y ddaw,
Ein cysgod rhag y corwynt cry',
  A'n cartref bythol draw;

Bu trigfa dy orseddfainc Di
  Erioed i'th saint yn nyth;
Dy fraich ei hunan, digon hi;
  Yn noddfa i ninnau byth.

Cyn trefnu'r bryniau
    wrth eu rhyw,
  Cyn cael
      o'r ddaear lun,
O dragwyddoldeb Ti wyt Duw,
  Heb ddiwedd oes, yr un.

Mil o flynyddoedd gennyt sydd
  Fel hediad hwyrol awr,
Fel gwyliadwriaeth nesa'r dydd
  Yn ffoi o flawn a wawr.

Amser, fel ffrwd lifeiriol glau,
  Ddwg heibio'i blant o hyd;
Ehedant megis breuddwyd brau
  Ddiflanna'r bore i gyd.

Ein Duw, ein nerth
    drwy'r oesau fu,
  Ein gobaith am a ddaw,
Tra pery trallod bydd o'n tu,
  A'n cartref bythol draw.

Our God, our strength
    through ages that were,
  Our hope for what is to come,
Our shelter against the strong gale,
  And our everlasting home yonder;

A residence was Thy throne
  Always for thy saints a nest;
Thy arm itself, sufficient it is;
  A refuge for us forever.

Before the arrangement of the hills 
    by their kind,
  Before getting
      from the earth a design,
From eternity Thou art God,
  For an endless age, the same.

A thousand years with thee are
  Like a lark of an evening hour,
Like a watch nearing the day
  Fleeing before the dawn.

Time, like a swiftly flowing stream,
  Bears away its children always;
They fly as a fragile dream
  Totally vanishes in the morning.

Our God, our strength
    through ages that were,
  Our hope for what is to come,
While trouble continues be on our side,
  And our everlasting home yonder.

Our God, our help
    in ages past,
  Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
  And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of Thy throne
  Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
  And our defense is sure.

Before the hills
    in order stood,
  Or earth
      received her frame,
From everlasting Thou art God,
  To endless years the same.

A thousand ages in Thy sight
  Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night
  Before the rising sun.

Time, like an ever rolling stream,
  Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
  Dies at the opening day.

Our God, our help
    in ages past,
  Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
  And our eternal home.