Arglwydd pan fwy'n myfyrio'n syn

Arglwydd, pan fwy'n myfyrio'n syn
Ar dy ddioddefaint tost cyn hyn,
  A darllen, it'
      trwy'th groes gwplau
  Gyfreithiau'm Lluniwr
      a'u mawrhau.

Pan welwy'th waed
    orchfygu grym
Uffern, angeu a phechod llym;
  A'r Dyn fu farw dros'i yn fyw,
  Mewn mawredd ar orseddfaingc Duw.

Fy Yspryd gwyd, a hedeg bydd,
Yn llawn o dān ar aden ffydd;
  Dymunwn gyrraedd nodau hy
  Trag'wyddol gerddi Gabriel fry.

Ond methu'n lān
    a chwyno 'rwy',
O eisiau'u moes
    a'u mesur hwy;
  A gorfod cwympo
      a'm cān i lawr,
  Ymhell islaw dy gongcwest mawr.

Ond fe ddaw'r amser,
    mae'n nesau,
Cawn ado'n ol
    y pwysau clai;
  Ein cyrph difraw, a hedeg fry,
  I ganu 'nghyd ā'r nefol lu.

Lord, when I am meditating with wonder
On thy severe suffering before this,
  And reading, that thou
      through thy cross fulfilled
  The laws of my Designer
      and magnified them.

When I see thy blood that
    overcame the force
Of hell, death and sharp sin;
  And the Man who died for me alive,
  In majesty on the throne of God.

My soul shall rise, and shall fly,
Full of fire on wings of faith;
  I wish to reach the bold aims
  Of the eternal verses of Gabriel above.

But failing completely
    and complaining I am,
From having to put them
    and their measure down;
  And being forced to fall
      with my song down,
Far below thy great conquest.

But the time shall come,
    it is approaching,
We shall get to leave behind
    the weight of clay;
  Our souls undismayed, shall fly above,
  To sing together with the heavenly host.

Lord, when my thoughts with wonder roll
O'er the sharp sorrows of thy soul,
  And read my Maker's
      broken laws
  Repair'd and honour'd
      by thy cross;

When I behold death, hell and sin,
Vanquish'd by that dear
    blood of thine,
  And see the man that groan'd and dy'd
  Sit glorious by his Father's side;

My passions rise and soar above,
I'm wing'd with faith and fir'd with love;
  Fain would I reach eternal things,
  And learn the notes that Gabriel sings.

But my heart fails,
    my tongue complains,
For want of their
    immortal strains;
  And in such humble
      notes as these
  Must fall below thy victories.

Well, the kind minute
    must appear
When we shall leave
    these bodies here,
  These clogs of clay, and mount on high,
  To join the songs above the sky.