Emyn Cryd

neu

Gan y Fammaeth

Emyn Cryd, neu Gan y Fammaeth.
Su si, fy mhlentn gwyn,
    cyd gau,
  A gwasg d'amrantau i gysgu,
Angylion sanctaidd, lu di swrth,
  A wyliant wrth dy wely;
Ac arnat, mewn rugaredd gref,
  Mae gwyneb nef yn gwenu.

Poed melus iawn dy hun mewn hedd
  Yn d'anedd lawn daioni;
Dy eisiau drudion sy' ar draul
  Dirion-hael dy rieni,
Cei fwyd a dillad
    yn ddi dl,
  I'th gynal a'th ddigoni.

Pa faint well mae dy eisiau di
  Yn cael eu gweinii genyf,
Nag y diwallwyd Mab Duw In,
  A'r dirion briod wyryf;
Sef pan ddisgynodd Iesu gwyn
  Yn eiddol blentyn uddyf.

Dy esmwyth gryd sy glyd a gln,
  Mae'th hoywlan fam i'th wylied;
Ond Mab Duw 'Methle'm gyda Mair
  Mewn gwely gwair oedd galed;
Yn nhrygfa'r ŷch,
    O'r drych i'r dref!
  In gwiwnef, yno'i ganed!

Ai'r bendigedig Faban gwiw,
  A hwnw'n Dduw ei hunan,
Yn llwm gyda'r direswm rai,
  A drigai mor dra egwan?
Pa fodd y gwelodd nefol gr
  Aneddle'u
      HIOR mwyneiddlan?

Ai nid oedd drigfan yn y dre'
  Yn rhywle drwy'r heolydd,
Gan rai di gred a roid i Grist,
  Pan ddaeth fal trist ymdeithydd?
Ai'r dianrhydedd pena' 'rioed
  A roed i'n mwyn Waredydd?

Ow, ow na bydd, er sain fy nghn,
  Anynad, faban anwyl,
Fy oslef a'th ddeffrodd, am bryd
  Oedd esgyd yn dy ddysgwyl;
Dy famaeth i'th wasanaeth sydd,
  A'th warchawd fydd ei gorchwyl.

Ond wrth yr hanes werthfawr hon,
  Myfyrion a ymferwant,
A dull Iuddewon, dallaidd yw,
  Yn gweini i Dduw'r gogoniant;
Wrth ganu eiddigus wy'n pryddhau,
  Fy nwydau a grychneidiant.

Bugeiliaid effraw, hylaw hynt,
  Adgofiaf hwynt yn fintai,
Oedd yno'n dwyn newyddion da,
  Rhyfeddod na ddarfyddai;
A thra golygent ef ar lawr,
  Y dirion wawr a dorai!

Mewn preseb gwael bu'r Iesu gwyn,
  Yn mrechiau i'r Forwyn Fari,
Y doethion 'u hoffrymau gwiw,
  Oedd haelion i'w addoli,
Mil myrdd
    o lon genadon nef,
  Pan ganwyd ef, yn gweini.

Yn y cadachau gwisgwyd ef,
  Nr nef yn nhy'r anifail,
Fe wenai, ond pan wylai'n wan,
  Ei wyryf, gan ei arail,
Oedd a'i Hosanna iddo'n su,
  Wrth fagu'r sanctaidd Fugail.

O fewn y dref fe hunai'n drist,
  Ow osod Crist mor isel!
Gerllaw mewn preseb lle pawr ŷch;
  Ond ti yn wych tan ochel;
Ni ddaw enbydrwydd yn y byd
  Ar duedd dy gryd tawel.

Er cwbl iachu dy enaid di
  O weli'r ail farwolaeth,
A'th godi o'r trueni trwm
  Holl dagwm colledigaeth,
O'r nef y deuodd gwir Fab Duw,
  Dan waelaidd ryw dynoliaeth.

O! duro'n gryno gadarn gred,
  Heb ddwned i'w ddaioni,
Byw iddo tra dychwelo chwyth,
  Gwaith einioes i'th gwytheni;
Nes esgyn ger ei fron i fyw,
  'N anfarwol i'w glodfori.

Mi a'th gusanwn gyda serch
  I'th gryd fel merch gariadus;
Ond boed it' ras
    yn nheyrnas Naf,
  Eidunaf yn ddaionus;
Ni bu anwylfam neb yn wir,
  Yn wellei chywir 'w'llys.

Dafydd Owen (Dewi Wyn o Eifion) 1784-1841

Cradle Hymn, or the Song of the Nursing Mother.
Hush, hush, my blessed child,
    tucked up tightly,
  And squeeze thy eyelids to sleep,
Holy angels, an unsleeping host,
  Shall keep watch by thy bed;
And over thee, in strong mercy,
  Heaven's face is smiling.

May thy sleep be very sweet in peace
  In thy dwelling full of goodness;
Thy costly needs are at the expence
  Of the tender generosity of thy parents,
Thou dost get food and clothing
    without payment,
  To support thee and satisfy thee.

How much better are thy needs
  Getting served by me,
Than the Son of the Lord God was satisfied,
  With the tender virgin spouse;
That is, when blessed Jesus descended
  In the form of a humble child.

Thy soft crib is cosy and clean,
  Thy alert-holy mother is to watch thee;
But the Son of God of in Bethlehem with Mary
  In a bed of straw which was hard;
In the residence of the ox;
    Oh, the condition of the town!
  The Lord, worthy of heaven, was born there!

Was the blesses, worthy baby,
  And he God himself,
Naked with the unreasoning ones,
  And dwelling so extremely weak?
How did the heavenly choir see
  The dwelling-place of
      their meek and holy LORD?

Was there no dwelling in the town
  Somewhere through the streets,
By those unbelieving given to Christ,
  When he came like a sad traveller?
Was it the most dishonourable ever
  That was given to our gentle Deliverer?

Now, now, the sound of my song shall not be
  Petulant, dear baby,
My tone has awoken thee, for a time
  There was a jolt awaiting thee;
Thy nursing mother is serving thee,
  And guarding thee will be her task.

But by this valuable history,
  Meditations shall boil,
And the manner of Jews, purblind it is,
  Serving the God of glory;
While singing ardently I am saddening,
  My passions, they are aroused.

Shepherds alert, skilful course,
  I will recall them as a band,
Who were there bringing good news,
  A wonder that would not pass away;
And while they were beholding him below,
  The tender dawn was breaking!

In a lowly manger was the blessed Jesus,
  In the arms of the Virgin Mary,
The magi with their worthy offerings,
  Which were generous to worship him,
A thousand myriad
    of cheerful emissaries of heaven,
  When he was born, serving.

In the nappies he was clothed,
  The Master of heaven in the house of animals,
He would smile, but when he would cry weakly,
  His virgin, by her care,
Which was with her Hosanna to him as a murmur,
  While nursing the sacred Shepherd.

Within the town he was sleeping sadly,
  Alas, to place Christ so low!
Nearby in a manger where oxen feed;
  But thou amazingly shunned;
No danger in the world will come
  Upon the side of thy quiet crib.

For the complete healing of thy soul
  From seeing the second death,
And thy raising from the heavy misery
  Of the whole sheep-fetter of loss,
From heaven came the true Son of God,
  Under the lowliness of some humanity.

Oh, grant our concise, firm faith,
  Without clamour to his goodness,
To live to him while ever breath returns,
  A life's work to thy veins,
Until ascending by his breast to live,
  Immortally to praise him.

I would kiss with affection
  For thy crib like a loving daughter;
But let there be to thee grace
    in the kingdom of the Chief,
  I will entreat benificently;
There never was a dear mother truly,
  With a better true will.

tr. 2015 Richard B Gillion

A Cradle Hymn

Hush! my dear,
    lie still and slumber,
  Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
  Gently falling on thy head.


 
Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment,
  House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care
    or payment: 
  All thy wants are well supplied.


 
How much better thou'rt attended
  Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven He descended
  And became a child like thee!


 
Soft and easy is thy cradle:
  Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When His birthplace was a stable
  And His softest bed was hay.



 
Blessd babe! what glorious features -
  Spotless fair, divinely bright! 
Must He dwell with brutal creatures?
  How could angels bear the sight?



 
Was there nothing but a manger
  Cursd sinners could afford
To receive the heavenly stranger?
  Did they thus affront their Lord?


 
Soft, my child: I did not chide thee,
  Though my song might sound too hard;
'Tis thy mother sits beside thee, 
  And her arms shall be thy guard.


 
Yet to read the shameful story
  How the Jews abused their King,
How they served the Lord of Glory,
  Makes me angry while I sing.


 
See the kinder shepherds round Him,
  Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they sought Him, there they found Him,
  With His Virgin mother by.


 
See the lovely babe a-dressing;
  Lovely infant, how He smiled!	 
When He wept, the mother's blessing
  Soothed and hush'd the holy child.










 
Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
  Where the hornd oxen fed: 
Peace, my darling; here 's no danger,
  Here's no ox anear thy bed.


 
'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
  Save my dear from burning flame, 
Bitter groans and endless crying,	 
  That thy blest Redeemer came.


 
May'st thou live to know and fear Him,
  Trust and love Him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near Him,
  See His face, and sing His praise!









Isaac Watts 1674-1748

The middle column is a literal translation of the Welsh (corrections welcome). A Welsh translation is identified by the abbreviation 'cyf.', an English translation by 'tr.'

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