Gwynfyd o'i febyd gwinfaeth

Gwynfyd o'i febyd gwinfaeth,
Gwirion dôn i'r gŵr nid aeth
  Ar ol cynghor lwc anghall
  Y drwg a ro'i fryd ar wall;
Ni saif yn ffordd, brif-ffordd brys,
Bechaduriaid, baich dyrys,
  Nac ar gadair gyfair gawdd
  Gwatwarwyr a gyd-dariawdd.

Ond cyfraith Dduw'n faith iawn fydd
Ei ddiddanwch dda ddeunydd,
  A'i myfyrio mwy fawredd,
  Ddydd a nos yn ddiddan wedd.

Bydd ail i bren a blennir
Yn nglan afon, dirion dir,
  A ddwg ffrwyth, ddigyffro hawl,
  Is irwydd yn amserol,
Ag ar y brig deg ir bren
Ni ddielwa un ddeilen;
  Ag oll a wnel gwellha'n wir,
  A'i law ddyn a lwyddiannir.

Annuwiol fraint ddynol fry,
O fall-haint ni bydd felly;
  Hwn o fab hoewan a fydd
  Fal manus ar fol mynydd, -
O'i flaen y gwynt flina' gwaeth,
Chwith ammod, a'i chwyth ymaith;

Ni welir annuwiolion
Ofer yn hir i'r farn hon;
  A gwn na saif, gwan o said
  Deirawr y pechaduriaid,
Drwy fawl oll i'r dyrfa lawn
O wŷr cofus rai cyfiawn;
  Duw a edwyn ffordd dyn da,
  Dinystrir enwir yna.

Blessed from his noble boyhood,
An innocent tune to the man who has not gone
  After the counsel of imprudent luck
  The evil that would put his mind in error;
He does not stand in the way, the busy highway,
Of sinners, a troublesome burden,
  Nor on a seat of the direction of the offence
  Of mockers who tarry together.

But the law of God very extensively is
His daily good delght,
  And his meditation evermore greatness,
  Day and night in a pleasant countenance.

He is like a tree which is planted
In the bank of a river, a tender land,
  Which bears fruit, an unagitated claim,
  Under fresh trees, timely,
And on the fair branch of the fig-tree
Not one leaf shall be fruitless;
  And all he does improves truly,
  With his hand he brings to success.

The ungodly privilege of men above,
Of pestilential infection shall not be thus;
  He of a frivolous son shall be
  Like chaff on the bulge of a mountain, -
Before it the worst, most grievous wind,
Of an awkward kind, shall drive it away;

The ungodly are not to be seen
Vain long to this judgment
  And I know they will not stand, weak of handle
  A three-hour, the sinners,
Through the praise of all to the full throng
Of memorable men, those righteous;
  God knows the way of a good man,
  To be destroyed are the wicked then.