Daeth dy ddiwyd waith i ben

Daeth dy ddiwyd waith i ben,
  Gorffwys mwy, lafurwr blin;
Coron gei tu hwnt i'r llen,
  Wedi'r gad a
      chlwyfau'r drin.

  Gorffwys dyro, Arglwydd cu,
  Gyda'r saint a'r nefol lu.

Engyl nef a'th ddwg
      i'r wlad,
  Lle mae tyrau Salem wiw,
Gan dy dywys uwch pob brad,
  I baradwys wen ein Duw.

Wrth y porth yn gwylio mae
  Y merthyron yn ddi-ri';
Wedi dianc uwch pob gwae,
  Croeso parod rônt i ti.

Ceraint a chyfeillion cu,
  Yn y wlad o fythol hedd,
Ddaw i'th gwrdd, yn llawen lu,
  Uwch wylofain prudd a'r bedd.

Gorffwys mwy; pyrth uffern draw
  Ni wnânt niwed byth i ti;
Ceidwad mawr eneidiau ddaw,
  Ac i'r nef fe'th dywys di.

"Llwch i'r llwch," a ninnau'n brudd,
  Ydwy'r geiriau yma'n awr,
Ond diymod yw ein ffydd
  Yn yr atgyfodiad mawr.

Thy diligent work came to an end,
  Rest evermore, weary labourer;
A crown thou shalt get beyond the curtain,
  After the battle and the
        wounds of the conflict.

    Rest grant, dear Lord,
    With the saints and the heavenly host.

Heaven's angels shall bring thee
      to the land,
  Where the towers of worthy Salem are,
While leading thee above every treachery,
  To the blessed paradise of our God.

By the gate watching are
  The martyrs innumerably;
Having escaped above every woe,
  A ready welcome they give to thee.

Loved ones and dear companions,
  In the land of everlasting peace,
Come to meet thee, as a joyful host,
  Above the sad weeping and the grave.

Rest evermore: yonder gates of hell
  Shall never do any harm to thee;
The great Saviour of souls comes
  And to heaven he shall lead thee.

"Dust to the dust," while we are sad,
  Are the words here now,
But unconditional is our faith
  In the great resurrection.

Now the labourer's toils are o'er;
  Fought the battle, won the crown;
On life's rough and barren shore
  Thou hast laid
        thy burden down.

    Grant him, Lord, eternal rest,
    With the spirits of the blest.

Angels bear thee
      to the land
  Where the towers of Sion rise;
Safely lead thee by the hand
  To the fields of Paradise:

White-robed, at the golden gate
  Of the new Jerusalem,
May the host of Martyrs wait;
  Give thee part and lot with them.

Friends and dear ones gone before
  To the land of endless peace,
Meet thee on that further shore
  Where all tears and weeping cease.

Rest in peace: the gates of hell
  Touch thee not, till he shall come
For the souls he loves so well,
  Dear Lord of the heavenly home.

Earth to earth, and dust to dust,
  Clay we give to kindred clay,
In the sure and certain trust
  Of the Resurrection day.

see also:
Now the labourer's task is o'er
1870 John Ellerton 1826-93