Yn angeu Crist caed haeddiant drud

Yn angau Crist caed haeddiant drud
I faddeu holl gamweddau'r byd,
  O flaen yr orsedd buraf sydd:
Ni all euogrwydd yno ddim,
Fe gyll melldithion Sinai'u grym,
  Trugaredd rad a garia'r dydd.

Caf yno ddedwydd dawel fyw,
Uwch brad gelynion
    o bob rhyw,
  O sŵn y drafferth a phob gwae;
A threulio tragwyddoldeb mwy
I ganu am ei ddwyfol glwy',
  Mewn anthem bythol i barhau..

             - - - - -

Yn angeu Crist caed haeddiant drud
I faddeu holl gamweddau'r byd,
  O flaen yr orsedd buraf sydd:
Nis gall euogrwydd yno ddim,
Fe gyll melldithion Sinai'u grym,
  Trugaredd rad a garia'r dydd.

Am iddo farw ar y bryn,
Ca'dd f'enaid bach ei ganu'n wyn,
  A'i dynu o'i gadwynau'n rhydd;
Wel, bellach dan ei haeddiant Ef,
Fel cysgod cedrwydden gref,
  Gorphwysaf mwy yn
      ngwres y dydd.

Boed oesoedd meithion fwy na mwy,
Heb rif na diwedd arnynt hwy,
  I gānu am ei ddirfawr boen;
Na thawed tafod o un rhyw,
Na dim o dan y nef sy'n byw,
  A son am goncwest addfwyn Oen.

gwelir:
  Gwnaed concwest ar Galfaria fryn
  Na foed im feddwl ddydd na nos
  Nis gall angylion nef y nef
  Rhyw ddyfais o anfeidrol faint

In the death of Christ
    precious merit is found
To forgive all the world's transgressions,
  Before the purest throne there is:
Guilt can there do nothing at all,
The curses of Sinai lose their force,
  Free mercy shall carry the day.

There I may happily quietly live,
Above the treachery of enemies
    of every kind,
And spend an eternity evermore
To sing about his divine wound,
  In an anthem forever to endure.

                - - - - -

In the death of Christ
    precious merit is found
To forgive all the world's transgressions,
  Before the purest throne there is:
Guilt can there do nothing at all,
The curses of Sinai lose their force,
  Free mercy shall carry the day.

Because he died on the hill,
My little soul got bleached white,
  And pulled free from its chains;
See, henceforth under His merit,
Like the shadow of a strong cedar,
  I shall rest evermore in
      the heat of the day.

Let vast ages more than more,
Without number nor with any end to them,
  Sing about his intense pain;
Nor let any tongue of any kind be silent,
Nor anything under heaven that lives,
  From telling of a gentle Lamb's conquest.