Fy mrodyr cystuddiedig sy

Fy mrodyr cystuddiedig, sy
Y d'od i'r lan trwy'r dyffryn dû
  Blinedig ar eich taith,
Annghofio ein gofidia wnawn;
Cawn orphwys fry
    dros hir brydnawn,
  Dros dragwyddoldeb maith!

Uwchlaw i'r faith ffurfafen wen
Yn siriol codwn fry ein pen,
  I drigfan wych y saint:
Ehedwn ar adenydd ffydd,
Nes cyraedd fry
    i'r gwyn fyd fydd
  Ein gogoneddus fraint.

Y rhai sy'n dwyn y groes o hyd
Am enw Crist,
    pan ânt o'r byd,
  Dros fyth cânt wel'd ei wedd:
I'r milwr da
    mae parch didrai,
A phawb i'r diwedd fo'n parhau -
  Mwynhant dragwyddol hedd.

O newydd braf, i'r enaid blîn,
I feddwl am y llaeth a'r gwîn,
  Yr hyfryd Ganaan fry:
Cawn yno wneud ein dedwydd nŷth,
A gorfoleddus ganu byth,
  Ymhlth angylaidd lu.

My afflicted brothers, who
Come up through the black valley
  Exhausted on your journey,
Forget our griefs we shall;
We shall get rest above
    for a long afternoon,
  For a vast eternity!

Above the vast firmament bright
Cheerfully we shall raise our head,
  To the saints' brilliant dwelling:
We shall fly on wings of faith,
Until arriving above
    at the blessedness that shall be
  Our glorious privilege.

Those who bear the cross always
For the name of Christ,
    when they go from the world,
  Forever they shall see his faith:
To the good soldier
    there is unebbing reverence,
And all who are enduring to the end -
  They shall enjoy eternal peace.

O good news, to the weary soul,
To think about the milk and the wine,
  Of the delightful Canaan above:
There we may make our happy nest,
And jubilantly sing forever,
  Amongst the angelic host.

Come on, my partners in distress,
My comrades through the wilderness,
  Who still your bodies feel;
A while forget your griefs and fears,
And look beyond
    the vale of tears,
  To that celestial hill.

Beyond the bounds of time, and space,
Look forward to that happy place,
  The saints' secure abode;
On faith's strong eagle pinions rise,
And force your passage
    to the skies,
  And scale the mount of God.

Who suffer with our master here,
We shall before
    His face appear
  And by His side sit down:
To patient faith
    the prize is sure,
And all, that to the end endure
  The cross, shall wear the crown.

Thrice blessed bliss-inspiring hope!
It lifts the fainting spirits up,
   It brings to life the dead;
Our conflicts here shall soon be past,
And you and I ascend at last
   Triumphant with our head.