Lle trigodd Anghrist medd Duw Ner

"Lle trigodd Anghrist,"
    medd Duw Ner,
  "Cyfodaf faner yno;
Dinas gelynion
    'fengyl gras
  Yn waedlyd fa's bydd honno."

"'Roedd cyfiawn ddial yn fy mryd,
  'N awr daeth
      y pryd cyflawnir,
A dydd fy ngwaredigion ddaeth,
  A'u dagrau ymaith sychir."

"Blin yw f'amynedd oddef cyd,
  'N awr caiff fy llid fyn'd allan;
Clau rhed
    fel mellten oddifry,
  A marwol teri ei daran."

"Am gynnorthwywyr gelwais i,
  I'm 'fengyl ni ddaeth yn dyn;
Fy mraich sy' ddigon cref,
    caiff hon
  Ddryllio'm gelynion cyndyn."

"Lladdfeydd a'm
    gwledd dinistriol fydd,
  Rhyd yr heolydd rhodian';
A Babel dan fy llid a'm llaw
  Fydd yma a
      thraw'n bwhwman."

Dy ddeheu-law Gongcwerwr cry'
  A ddyg i ti anrhydedd
Rho'wn i ti glod Waredwr gwiw,
  Ofnadwy yw'th ddialedd.

gwelir:
 Rhan I - Pa nerthol ddyn neu gadarn dduw?

"Where the Antichrist dwelt,"
    said God the Lord,
  "I will raise a banner there;
The city of the enemy
    of the gospel of grace
  A bloody field that shall be."

"There was righteous vengeance in my mind,
  Now has come
      the time for it to be fulfilled,
And the day of my delivered ones has come,
  And their tears shall be dried away."

"Weary is my patience of suffering so long,
  Now shall my anger get to go forth;
Swiftly shall it run
    like lightning from above,
  And mortally break his shield."

"For helpers I called,
  To my gospel no man came;
My arm is sufficiently strong,
    this shall get
  To shatter my stubborn enemies."

"Slaughters with my
    destructive sword there shall be,
  Along the streets they stroll;
And Babel under my wrath and my hand
  Shall be here and there
      wandering confounded."

Thy right hand, strong Conqueror,
  Shall bring thee honour
We render to thee praise, worthy Deliverer,
  Terrible is thy vengeance.

"I lift My banner,"
    saith the Lord,
"Where Antichrist has stood;
The city of
    my gospel foes
  Shall be a field of blood."

"My heart has studied just revenge,
  And now
      the day appears,
The day of my redeem'd is come,
  To wipe away their tears."

"Quite weary is my patience grown,
  And bids my fury go;
Swift as the lightning
    it shall move,
  And be as fatal too."

"I call for helpers, but in vain;
  Then has my gospel none?
Well, mine own arm
    has might enough,
  To crush my foes alone."

"Slaughter and my
    devouring sword
  Shall walk the streets around,
Babel shall reel beneath my stroke,
  And stagger
      to the ground."

Thy honours, O victorious King!
  Thine own right-hand shall raise,
While we thy awful vengeance sing,
  And our deliverer praise.