Fy Iesu yw fy Nuw (Fy Mrawd a'm Prynwr yw)

Fy Iesu yw fy Nuw,
Fy Mrawd a'm Prynwr yw,
  Ffyddlonaf gwir;
Arwain fy enaid wnaeth
O'r gwledydd tywyll caeth,
I wlad o fêl a llaeth,
  Paradwys bur.

Efe a aeth o'm blaen,
Trwy ddyfnder dŵr a thân,
  I'r hyfryd wlad;
Mae'n eiriol yno'n awr
O flaen yr orsedd fawr,
Yn maddau bach a mawr
  O'm beiau'n rhad.

Mae lluoedd maith y nef
Yn plygu iddo Ef,
  Anfeidrol Dduw;
Canu telynau clir
Mewn gŵyl dragwyddol bur,
Am waredigaeth wir
  I ddynol-ryw.

Pan delo'r saint yng nghyd,
O derfyn eitha'r byd,
  I deyrnas nef;
Cânt dreulio oesoedd fry,
Heb fesur ac heb ri',
I ganu am angeu du,
  Oddefodd Ef.

         - - - - -

Fy Iesu yw fy Nuw,
Fy Mrawd a'm Prynwr gwiw,
  Ffyddlonaf gwir;
Fy enaid arwain wnaeth
O'r gwledydd tywyll caeth,
I wlad o fel a llaeth
  Paradwys bur.

Mae lluoedd maith y nef
Yn plygu iddo Ef,
  Fy Mhrynwr gwiw;
Gan chware'u tanau clir,
Mewn gwyl dragwyddol bur,
Am waredigaeth wir,
  I ddynol ryw.

Pan ddelo'r saint yn nghyd,
O derfyn eitha'r byd,
  I'w cartref hwy;
Cant dreulio bythol oes,
Uwch gofid, cur, a loes,
I ganu am angeu'r groes,
  Heb 'madael mwy.

My Jesus is my God,
My Brother and my Redeemer he is,
  Most faithfully true;
Lead my soul he did
From the dark, captive lands,
To a land of honey and milk,
  Pure paradise.

He has gone before me,
Through depths of water and fire,
  To the delightful land;
He is interceding there now
Before the great throne,
Forgiving small and great
  Of my faults freely.

The vast hosts of heaven are
Bowing to Him,
  Infinite God;
Playing clear harps
In pure, eternal tune,
About true deliverance
  For human-kind.

When the saints come together,
From the utmost ends of the world,
  To the kingdom of heaven;
They will get to spend ages above,
Without measure and without number,
To sing about the black death,
  Which He suffered.

                 - - - - -

My Jesus is my God,
My Brother and my worthy Redeemer,
  Most faithfully true;
Lead my soul he did
From the dark captive lands,
To a land of honey and milk
  A pure paradise.

The vast hosts of heave are
Bowing unto him,
  My worthy Redeemer;
While playing their clear strings,
In a pure eternal festival,
About true deliverance,
  For human kind.

When the saints come together,
From the utmost ends of the world,
  To their home;
They shall get to spend an everlasting age,
Above grief, pain, and anguish,
To sings about the death of the cross,
  Without leaving any more.