Cauedig ardd yw'r Saint yn wir

Cauedig ardd yw'r saint, yn wir,
A wnaethpwyd yn neillduol dir;
  Darn fechan wedi thynnu ma*s
  O'r anial fyd
      trwy nefol ras.

Fel prennau o fyrr, neu lysiau per,
Eu plannu wnaed gan law Duw Ner;
  Eu holl ffynhonnau yn Seion fydd,
  I beri i'nt dyfu nos a dydd.

Tyr'd y deheu-wynt nefol mwyn,
Chwyth ar ein gardd âg awel dwym;
  Anadla'n rasol Yspryd Glân
  Ar dy blanhigion ifangc mân.

Gwasgara'n per aroglau ar led,
I resso ein Prynwr
    Brenin cred;
  Ffydd, cariad, a llawenydd gwiw,
  A phob gras yma fytho'n fyw.

A deued ein Hanwylyd ni
Bwyttaed o'i ffrwythau 'i hun yn ffri,
  "Mi ddo'm dyweddi," meddei ef,
  A golwg serchog fry o'r nef.

I'w ardd mae'n dyfod anwyl Ner,
Hoff gantho'n tlawd aroglau per;
  A'n gwawdd y mae i'w wledd ei hun,
  Melusach yw nâ llaeth a gwin.

"Bwyttewch o'r bywiol bren yn rhad,"
Medd ef, "mae gresso
    i blant fy Nhad,
  Dewch, f'anwyl rai, ac yfwch chwi
  Helaethrwydd llawn o'm cariad i."

I'th fwrdd o Iesu'n fynych dewn,
A chanmol dy haelioni wnawn;
  Ond y mae'r bwyd 'ry'm arno'n byw,
  Yn gofyn amgen mawl i Dduw.

An enclosed garden are the saints, truly,
Which was made a peculiar ground;
  A small piece drawn out
  From the desert world
      through heavenly grace.

Like trees of myrrh, or sweet herbs,
They were planted by the Lord God's hand;
  All their springs in Zion shall be,
  To cause them to grow night and day.

Come, thou gentle heavenly south wind,
Blow on our garden with a warm breeze;
  Breathe graciously, Holy Spirit,
  On thy small young plants.

Disperse our sweet scents abroad,
To welcome our Redeemer,
    the King of belief;
  Faith, love and worthy joy,
  And may every grace here be alive.

And let our Beloved come,
Let his eat of his own fruits freely,
  "I shall come, my betrothed," he said,
  With an affectionate look
      from heaven above.

To his garden our beloved Lord is coming,
His is fond of our poor sweet scents;
  And our invitation is to his own feast,
  Sweeter it is than milk and wine.

"Eat ye from the tree of life freely,"
He says, "The is a welcome
    for the children of my Father,
  Come, my beloved ones, and drink ye
  A full abundance from my love."

To thy table, O Jesus, often we would come,
And extol thy generosity we would do;
  But the food upon which we are living, is
  Requiring repeated praise to God.

We are a garden walled around
Chosen and made peculiar ground;
  A little spot enclosed by grace
  Out of the world's
      wide wilderness.

Like trees of myrrh and spice we stand,
Planted by God the Father's hand;
  And all his springs in Zion flow,
  To make the young plantation grow.

Awake, O, heav'nly wind! and come,
Blow on this garden of perfume;
  Spirit divine! descend and breathe
  A gracious gale on plants beneath.

Make our best spices flow abroad,
To entertain our
      Saviour God
  And faith, and love, and joy appear,
  And every grace be active here.

Let my Beloved come and taste
His pleasant fruits at his own feast:
  I come, my spouse, I come! he cries,
  With love and pleasure
      in his eyes.

Our Lord into his garden comes,
Well pleased to smell our poor perfumes,
  And calls us to a feast divine,
  Sweeter than honey, milk, or wine.

Eat of the tree of life, my friends,
The blessings that
    my Father sends;
  Your taste shall all my dainties prove,
  And drink abundance of my love:

Jesus, we will frequent thy board,
And sing the bounties of our Lord;
  But the rich food on which we live
  Demands more praise than tongues can give.