Duw na cherydda fi'n dy lid

Duw, na cherydda fi'n dy lid;
  Ond attal d'ergyd weithian:
Na 'nyned dy ddigofaint cryf,
  Yn erbyn pryf mor egwan.

Mae f'enaid trist tan ofal trwm,
  A'm cnawd tan orthrwm flinder:
Mae ngwely'n dyst o'm dagrau gwael:
  Nid wyf yn cael esmwythder.

Mewn dolur tost 'rwy'n treulio'r dydd;
  A'r nos mewn prudd riddfanau;
Gan gyfri'r amser ar bob cam,
  A dysgwyl am y boreu.

Ai byth y ca'i
    nghystuddio'n llyn?
  Mae ngolwg yn tywyllu:
Pa bryd, O Arglwydd! mwy y daw
  Dy ddoniol law'm dyddanu?

Pan lefo llwch a lludw ar Dduw,
  Efe a glyw ein griddfan:
A*n hesgyrn drylliog mae'n iachau,
  O'i drugareddau'i hunan.

A'i air rhinweddol fe iacha
  Ein llesg a'n cla' fywydau;
Can*s ni fawl beddau byth mo'r Ion,
  Ni 'dwaenir mo'no'n angeu.

Go, do not rebuke me in thy anger;
  But stop thy blow henceforth:
Let not thy strong wrath kindle
  Against a worm so weak.

My sad soul is under heavy care,
  And my flesh under oppression of grief:
My bed is witness to my poor tears:
  I am getting no relief.

In sore anguish I am spending the day;
  And the night in sad groans;
While counting the time at every step,
  And waiting for the morning.

Shall I forever get
    my afflictions as a lake?
  My sight is darkening:
When, O Lord, shall thy cheering
  Hand come to comfort me?

When dust and ashes calls upon God,
  he shall hear our groaning:
And our broken bones he heals,
  From his own mercies.

With his virtuous word he shall heal
  Our feeble and our sick lives:
Since graves shall never praise the Lord,
  Nor shall he be known in death.

In anger, Lord, rebuke me not;
  Withdraw the dreadful storm:
Nor let thy fury burn so hot,
  Against a feeble worm.

My soul's bow'd down with heavy cares,
  My flesh with pain opprest:
My couch is witness to y tears,
  My tears forbid my rest.

Sorrow and pain wear out my days;
  I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
  'Till the slow morning rise.

Shall I be still
    tormented more?
  Mine eyes consum'd with grief;
How long, my god, how long, before
  Thine hand afford relief?

He hears when dust and ashes speak,
  He pities all our groans;
He saves us for his mercy's sake,
  And heals our broken bones.

The virtue of his sov'reign word
  Restores our fainting breath:
For silent graves praise not the Lord,
  Nor is he known in death.