Cofleidied ef fy enaid gwan

Cofleidied ef fy enaid gwan,
Od oes i mi'n ei gariad ran?
  Mae'th lais a chusan per dy fin
  O Iesu'n llawer gwell nâ'r gwin.

Yspryd enneiniad arnat ddaeth,
A thannu aroglau d'enw wnaeth;
  Olew'r llawenydd, gras, a'r hedd,
  Wna'r pur forwynion hoffi'th wedd.

Tynn fu â'th gariad ar dy ol,
Fe hed fy enaid fynu i'th gol:
  A'n traed anwadal cant eu dwyn
  I stefyll têg y Brenin mwyn.

Ac yno ymhyfrydu cawn
Mewn clodydd a llawenydd llawn;
  Ni gofiwn am dy rasol rin,
  A'th gariad mwyn
      yn fwy nâ'r gwin.

Ynom ein hun nid y'm ond hyll
Fel pebyll Cedar dduon ddull;
  Pan wisgom dy brydferthwch llon,
  Têg y'm fel llenni Salomon.

Tra byddo'r Brenin wrth ei fwrdd,
Ni ddaw dim gofid yno i'n cwrdd;
  Fe wena arnom ne's bo'i gras
  Fel nardus yn arogli ma's.

Fel myrr diferol ydyw Crist,
A'i gariad rhad i'm henaid trist;
  A thra bwy'n gwledd gyd ag e',
  O fewn fy mynwes bydd ei le.

Nid tai o gedrwydd,
    gwaeth un saer,
Gystadla â'th lysoedd ar y ddae'r
  Disgwyliwn yma ne's i ti
  Ein codi i well trigfannau fry.

Let him embrace my weak soul,
If I have a part in his love.
  Thy voice and the sweet kiss of thy lip,
  Is, O Jesus, much better than the wine.

The Spirit of anointing upon thee came,
And ignite the perfumes of thy name it did;
  The oil of joy, grace and peace,
  Make the pure virgins love thy face.

Draw me with thy love after thee,
My soul shall fly up to thy bosom:
  And our wavering feet shall be brought
  To the fair room of the gentle King.

And there we may take delight
In praises and full joy;
  We shall remember thy gracious merit,
  And thy gentle love
      greater than the wine.

In ourselves we are only ugly
Like the black tents of Kedar;
  When we wear thy cheerful beauty,
  Fair are we like the curtains of Solomon.

While the King is at his table,
No grief shall come there to meet us;
  He smiles upon us until his grace be
  Like nard sending out its fragrance.

Like dripping myrrh is Christ,
And his free love to my sad soul;
  And while ever I am feasting with him,
  Within my bosom shall be his place.

Not houses of cedar,
    the work of any artisan,
Shall compete with thy courts on the earth;
  We shall wait here until thou
  Raise us to better dwellings above.

Let him embrace my soul, and prove
Mine interest in his heavenly love:
  The voice that tells me, "Thou art mine,"
  Exceeds the blessings of the vine.

On thee th'anointing Spirit came,
And spreads the savour of thy name;
  That oil of gladness and of grace
  Draws virgin souls to meet thy face.

Jesus, allure me by thy charms,
My soul shall fly into thine arms,
  Our wandering feet thy favours bring
  To the fair chambers of the King.

Wonder and pleasure tune our voice
To speak thy praises and our joys:
  Our memory keeps this love of thine
  Beyond the taste
      of richest wine.

Tho' in ourselves deform'd we are,
And black as Kedar tent appear,
  Yet when we put thy beauties on,
  Fair as the courts of Solomon.

While at his table sits the King,
He loves to see us smile and sing;
  Our graces are our best perfume,
  And breathe like spikenard round the room.

As myrrh new bleeding from the tree,
Such is a dying Christ to me;
  And while he makes my soul his guest,
  My bosom, Lord, shall be thy rest.

No beams of cedar
    or of fir
Can with thy courts on earth compare;
  And here we wait until thy love
  Raise us to nobler seats above.