Gobaith

Fwyn angor yr enaid,
    mewn chwerwder a chur,
Er gwaethaf pob adfyd
    i'r eithaf fo'n sur,
  Trwy'r niwlen yn gwenu
      os gwelir di draw!
  Tawelwch nefolaidd
      i'm hyspryd a ddaw.

Tydi dan glefydau 
    sy'n cynnal y fron,
Rhag syrthio'n ddrylliedig
    dan ymchwydd y don;
  Wyt lewyrch yn gwawrio
      'n fwyn hyfryd dy wedd,
  Ar fordaith dymhestlog
      ein bywyd i'r bedd.

Os heddyw cymmylau
     sy'n erchyll amdoi
Fy llwybrau dyryslyd,
     fy ngolwg gan gloi,
  Tydi fyddi'n serchog
      afaelu'n fy llaw,
  Gan wedyd,
      "Y foru yn desog y daw."

Dy hoff fwynaf rinwedd
    iachusol iawn yw,
Ac arnat ti'n unig
    mae miloedd yn byw:
  Y lle yr anelodd
      gorthrymder ei saeth
  Tydi'n glau a welli
      yr archoll a wnaeth.

Pan byddo cyfeillion
    mynwesol a gwir
Yn gorfod ymadael,
    dros amser dwys hir,
  Y Gobaith o eilwaith
      gyfarfod yn llon
  Fydd eli i glwyfau,
      i friwiau y fron.

Y fam beth ond Gobaith
     a'i cynnal bob awr,
Rhag syrthio'n wywedig
    dan lewyg i lawr,
  Pan draw ar y ce'nfor
      peryglus mae'r un
  A gâr mor bur anwyl
      â'i henaid ei hun.

Os rhwystrau'n dyrysu'n
    hamcanion a gawn,
Trwy'th gymmorth, hoff Obaith,
    yn llwyr ni thristâwn;
  A thi yn ein nerthu
      ymdeithiwn ym mla'n
  Trwy oer ddyffryn adfyd,
      yn uchel ein cân.

Fel gwlith i'r gwenithyn, -
    i'r sychdir fel gwlaw,
Yn hoff dy gysuron
    i'r ddwyfron a ddaw;
  Bydd imi'n gyfeillgar,
      i'm hofnau rho sen,
  A llawen y treuliaf
      fy myrddydd i ben.

Fy nâ a fy nefaid
    os colli a wnaf,
Os casglu o ffrwythau
    fy ngwinllan ni chaf,
  Fy ŷd ar y maesydd
      os diffrwyth y try,
  Yn Nuw y gobeithiaf
      er hyn oll yn hy.

Yn wyneb holl ddychryn
    tra dwys angau du,
Mwyn Obaith yn darian
    i filoedd a fu,
  Yn llusern i'w llwybrau, -
      yn dangos o bell,
  Trwy'r llen o dywyllwch,
      y bryniau sydd well.

Ond dychryn, fy enaid;
    adgofia fod man
Na rydd i'w drigolion
    un gobaith yn rhan;
  Lle wedi machludo
      mae hyfryd haul hedd,
  Heb neb, och! yn disgwyl
      ail weled ei wedd.

I mewn pan bo'r meddwl
    ei lygad yn troi,
A gweled trugaredd
    dros byth wedi ffoi,
  Mor erchyll y teimlad,
      arswydus uwch iaith!
  Fy Nuw, rhag ei brofi,
      ystyriwyf fy nhaith.

Gentle anchor of the soul,
    in bitterness and ache,
Despite every adversity
    in the extreme being sour,
  Through fog smiling
      if though art to be seen yonder!
  Heavenly tranquility
      shall come to my spirit.

Thou under illnesses
    who art supporting the breast,
From falling to smithereens
    under the swelling of the wave;
  Thou art a gleam dawning gently
      delightful thy countenance,
  On the tempestuous voyage
      of our life to the grave.

If today clouds
    which are hideous enshroud
My confused paths,
    my sight locked,
  Thou shalt be affectionate
      grasping my hand,
  Saying, "The morrow
      shall come sunny."

Thy lovely, most dear virtue
    is truly healing,
And upon thee alone
    are thousands living:
  The place oppression
      aimed its arrow
  Thou swiftly heal
      the wound didst do.

Whenever close and
    true friends
Must leave, for
    a seriously long time,
  The Hope of meeting
      cheerfully for a second time
  Will be ointment to wounds,
      to the bruises of the breast.

The mother, what but Hope
    will uphold her every hour,
From falling withered
    under a faint to the floor,
  When yonder on the perilous
      high sea is the one
  Whom she loves as purely dearly
      as her own soul.

If obstacles frustrate
    our intentions we may have,
Through thy help, dear Hope,
    completely we will not be saddened;
  With thee strengthening us
      we will journey on
  Through the cold vale of adversity,
      our song loud.

Like dew to the blade of wheat, -
    to the dry land like rain,
Fond of thy comforts
    to the breasts which come;
  Be to me friendly,
      to my fears give a scolding,
  And joyfully I shall spend
      out my short day.

My cattle and my sheep
    if loose them I do,
If a collection of the fruits
    of my vineyard I do not get,
  My grain on the fields
      if unfruitful it turns,
  In God I shall trust
      despite all this undaunted.

In the face of all the horror
    so intense of black death,
Dear Hope as a shield
    to thousands has been,
  A lantern to their paths, -
      showing from afar,
  Through the curtain of darkness,
      the hills which are better.

But be thou horrified, my soul;
    remember that there is a place
Which will not give to its inhabitants
    any hope as a portion;
  Where has set
      the delightful sun of peace,
  Without anyone, oh!
      expecting to see his face again.

In when the though be
    its eye turning,
And see mercy
    forever having fled,
  So horrendous the feeling,
      horrific above language!
  My God, lest I experience it,
      I will consider my journey.