Pa feddwl, pa 'madrodd, pa ddawn,
Pa dafod all osod i maes,
Mor felus, mor helaeth, mor llawn,
Mor gryfed ei gariad a'i ras?
Afonydd sy'n rhedeg mor gryf,
Na dichon i bechod na bai,
Wrthsefyll yn erbyn eu llif,
A'u llanw ardderchog didrai.
Fel fflamau angerddol o dân,
Yw cariad f'Anwylyd o hyd;
Fe losgodd bob rhwystrau o'i flaen,
Fe yfodd o'r afon i gyd:
Ymaflodd mewn dyn ar y llawr,
Fe'i dygodd â'r Duwdod yn un!
Y pellder oedd
rhyngddynt oedd fawr,
Fe'i llanwodd â'i haeddiant ei hun.
Fe gododd i fynu ei law,
Ymladdodd, ennillodd y dydd!
Ei holl waredigion a ddaw,
A'i gaethion a roddir yn rhydd!
Fe 'nillodd lath goncwest trwy waed,
Mae ganddo lywodraeth mor fawr!
Hyd eithaf trigfannau ei Dad,
Mae'n cyrhaedd o'r nefoedd i'r llawr.
Wrth gofio'i ruddfanau'n yr ardd,
A'i chwys fel defnynau o waed,
Aredig ar gefen mor hardd,
A'i daraw â chleddyf ei Dad;
Ei arwain i Galfari fryn,
A'i hoelio wrth groesbren
o'i fodd,
Fa dafod all dewi am hyn?
Pa galon mor galed na thodd?
pa :: pwy Mor gryfed :: Mor gryf yw Fe yfodd o'r afon :: Fe yfodd yr afon :: Fe sychodd yr afon ruddfanau :: riddfanau :: riddfannau A'i chwys :: Ei chwys gefen mor :: gefn oedd mor A'i daro :: Ei daraw am hyn? :: am hyn! na thodd? :: na thodd!
1-3 John Williams (Ioan ab Gwilym) 1728-1806
Tonau [8888D]:
gwelir: |
What thought, what utterance, what talent,
What tongue can expound,
How sweet, how abundant, how full,
How strong is his love and his grace?
Rivers that run so strong,
Neither sin nor fault can
Withstand their flow,
And they flood exceedingly unebbingly.
Like ardent flames of fire,
Is the love of my Darling always;
He burned every obstacle before him,
He drank all of the river:
He apprehended man on the earth,
He brought him to God as one!
The distance that was
between them was great,
He filled it with his own merit.
He lifted up his hand,
He seized, he won the day;
All his delivered ones will come,
And the captives to be set free;
He won such a conquest through blood,
He has such great authority,
Right unto the dwellings of his Father,
It reaches from the heavens to the earth.
While remembering his groans in the garden,
And his sweat like drops of blood,
Ploughed on the back so beautiful,
And his stroke with his Father's sword;
His leading to Calvary hill,
And his willingly being nailed
to the wooden cross,
What tongue can keep quiet about this?
What heart so hard that it not melt?
:: :: He drank ... of the river :: He drank ... the river :: He dried ... the river :: :: And his sweat :: His sweat back so :: back that was so And his stroke :: His stroke about this? :: about this! that it not melt? :: that it not melt! tr. 2009 Richard B Gillion |
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