Duw da ar ba fath edau frau
O Dduw ar ba fath edau frau

Duw da, ar ba fath edau frau,
  Mae bythol bethau'n hongian!
Trag'wyddol stâd pob marwol ddyn,
  Ar linyn bywyd egwan.

Gwynfyd, neu fythol wae,
    yw rhan
  Pob enaid, pan êl ymaith;
Ac etto mor ddi-lafur dwys,
  Y'm ni ar bwys marwolaeth.

Ein tymmer gysglyd, Duw, deffô,
  I rodio'r ffordd beryglus;
A phan ymedy ein henaid byw,
  Boed gydâ Duw yn gorphwys.

            - - - - -

O Dduw ar ba fath edau frau
  Mae bythol bethau'n hongian!
Tragwyddol 'stâd pob marwol ddyn
  Ar linyn bywyd egwan!

Y flwyddyn dry ei chylch yn glau,
  A dyrwyn mae ein dyddiau;
Lle bynag b'om, ac yn mha waith,
  'Rym ar ein taith i'n beddau!

Gwyn fyd neu fythol wae
    fydd rhan
  Pob enaid pan êl ymaith;
Ac eto, mor ddifraw yw dyn,
  Ac ef ar fin marwolaeth!

Ein tymer gysglyd, Dduw, deffro,
  I rodio'r ffordd beryglus;
A phan ymedy'n henaid byw,
  Aed at ei Dduw i orphwys.

gwelir:
  Aeth heibio etto flwyddyn gron
  Tragwyddol Arglwydd wrthyt ti

O God, on what kind of fragile thread
  Are eternal things hanging!
The eternal state of every mortal man
  On a weak line of life!

Blessedness, or everlasting woe,
    is the portion
  Of every soul, when it goes away;
And yet how intensely lazy,
  Are we taking mortality into account.

Our sleepy temper, God, waken,
  To walk the dangerous road;
And when our living soul leaves,
  May it be with God resting.

              - - - - -

O God, on what kind of fragile thread
  Are eternal things hanging!
The eternal state of every mortal man
  On a weak line of life!

The year turns its circle quickly,
  And winding up are our days,
Whoe'er we be, and in whatever work,
  We are on our journey to our graves!

Blessedness or eternal woe
    shall be the portion
  Of every soul when it goes away;
And yet, how lacking in fear is man,
  And he on the brink of mortality!

Our sleepy temper, God, waken,
  To walk the dangerous road;
And when our living soul leaves,
  May it go to its God to rest.

Great God! on what a slender thread
  Hang everlasting things!
Th' eternal states of all the dead
  Upon life's feeble strings.

Infinite joy or endless woe
  Attends on
      every breath,
And yet how unconcerned we go
  Upon the brink of death!

Waken, O Lord! our drowsy sense,
  To walk this dangerous road;
And if our souls be hurried hence,
  May they be found with God.

              - - - - -

Great God! on what a slender thread
  Hang everlasting things!
Th' eternal states of all the dead
  Upon life's feeble strings.

The year rolls round, and steals away
  The breath that first it gave;
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
  We're trav'lling to the grave.

Infinite joy or endless woe
  Attends on
      every breath,
And yet how unconcerned we go
  Upon the brink of death!

Waken, O Lord! our drowsy sense,
  To walk this dangerous road;
And if our souls be hurried hence,
  May they be found with God.