'Rwy'n edrych dros y bryniau pell

'Rwy'n edrych dros y bryniau pell
  Amdanat bob yr awr;
Tyrd, fy Anwylyd, mae'n hwyrhau
  A'm haul bron mynd i lawr.

Tebygwn be bai nhroed yn rhydd,
  Maes o'r caethiwed hyn;
Na wnawn ond canu
    byth tra bwyf,
  Am ras Calfaria fryn.

Tyr'd Arglwydd, â'th addewid rad,
  Pur eiriau'r nef i ben;
Dyddiau fy rhyddid roed dan sel,
  Yn nirgel lyfr y nen.

Mae dyddiau griddfan i mi'n hir,
  Caethiwed Babel fawr;
O na chawn deimlo'r Jubil fwyn,
  Yn agor dorau'r wawr.

Pererin wyf mewn anial dir,
  Yn crwydro yma a thraw;
Ac yn rhyw ddysgwyl bob yr awr,
  Fod tŷ fy Nhad gerllaw.

Mae arnaf hiraeth am y wlad,
  Lle mae torfeydd diri';
Yn canu'r anthem i barhau,
  Am angau Calfari.

Tro fy nghariadau oll i gyd
  'Nawr yn anffyddlon im;
Ond yr wyf finnau'n hyfryd glaf
  O gariad mwy ei rym.

Cariad na 'nabu plant y llawr
  Mo'i rinwedd nac mo'i ras,
Ac sydd yn sugno'm serch a'm bryd
  O'r creadur oll i maes.

O gwna fi'n ffyddlon tra fwy' byw
  A'm lefel at dy glod,
Ac na fo pleser fynd a 'mryd
  A welwyd is y rhod.

Tyn fy serchiadau'n gryno iawn
  Oddi wrth wrthrychau gau
At yr un gwrthrych ag sydd fyth
  Yn ffyddlon yn parhau.

'Does gyflwr tan yr awyr las
  'Rwy' ynddo'n chwennych byw;
Ond fy hyfrydwch fyth gaiff fod
  O fewn cynteddau'm Duw.

Fe ddarfu blas, fe ddarfu chwant
  At holl bwysau'r byd;
Nid oes ond gwagedd heb ddim trai
  Yn rhedeg trwyddo i gyd.

Mor ddedwydd ydyw'r dyrfa lan,
  Ac diroedd gwlad yr hedd;
Sy'n gorphwys o'u blinderau dwys,
  Ac yn mwynhau dy wedd.

              - - - - -

'Rwy'n edrych dros y bryniau pell,
  Am danat, Iesu mawr;
O tyr'd, fy Anwylyd, mae'n hwyrhau,
  A'm haul bron myn'd i lawr.

Trodd fy nghariadau oll i gyd
  'Nawr yn anffyddlon im';
Ond yr wyf fi yn hyfryd glaf
  O gariad mwy ei rym.

Mi rof ffarwel i bob rhyw chwant,
  Pob pleser is y nen;
Ac yr wy'n cymryd Iesu o'm bodd
  Yn Briod ac yn Ben.

Rho imi lynu wrth dy draed,
  A chanu am waed dy groes;
Bydd hyn yn ddigon im' o fraint
  Dros chwerwon ddyddiau f'oes.

gwelir:
  Anturiaf at ei orsedd ef
  Hiraetha f'enaid am fwynhau
  Mae dyddiau griddfan i mi'n hir
  Mi ymddiriedaf yn ei Air
  Pererin wyf mwn anial dir
  Tyr'd Arglwydd a'th addewid rad
 

I am looking across the distant hills,
  For thee every hour;
Come, my Beloved, it is getting late,
  And my sun about to go down.

I suppose if my feet were free,
  Out of this captivity;
I would do nothing but sing
    forever while I live,
  About the grace of the hill of Calvary.

Bring, Lord, thy gracious promise
  Of the pure words of heaven to fulfilment;
May the days of my freedom be sealed,
  In the secret book of heaven.

The days of groaning are long for me,
  The captivity of great Babel;
O that I may feel the gentle Jubilee,
  Opening the doors of the dawn.

I am a pilgrim in a desert land,
  Wandering here and there;
And in some expectation every hour,
  The my Father's house is at hand.

I have a longing for the land,
  Where there are innumerable throngs;
Continuing to sing the anthem,
  About the death of Calvary.

All my loves altogether turn
  Now unfaithful to me;
But I am a delightful victim
  Of the love of great force.

A love the children of earth did not know
  Neither its virtue nor its grace,
And which sucks my affection and my intent
  All out from the creature.

Oh make me faithful while I live
  And my level to thy praise,
And may there be no pleasure taking my intent
  Seen under the sky.

Draw my affections very firmly
  From hollow objects
To the one object that will forever
  Faithfully remain.

There is no condition under the blue sky
  In which I desire to live,
But my delight is forever to be
  Within the courts of my God.

Taste has gone, desire has gone
  Towards all the weight of the world;
There is only emptiness without any ebbing
  Running through it all.

How happy is the holy throng,
  Over the lands of the country of peace;
Which rest from their intense griefs,
  And enjoy thy face.

                 - - - - -

I am looking across the distant hills,
  For thee, great Jesus;
O come, my Beloved, it is getting late,
  And my sun almost gone down.

All my loves turned altogether
  Now unfaithful to me;
But I am delightfully sick
  Of love of greater power.

I will bid farewell to every kind of lust,
  Every pleasure under the sky;
An I am taking Jesus gladly
  As Spouse and as Head.

Grant me to stick at thy feet,
  And sing about the blood of thy cross;
This shall be a sufficient privilege to me
  For the bitter days of my lifespan.

I look beyond the distant hills,
  My risen Lord to see:
O come, Beloved, ere the dusk,
  My sun doth set on me!

Methinks that were my feet released
  From these afflicting chains,
I would but sing
    of Calvary,
  Nor think of all my pains.
















I long for thy divine abode,
  Where sinless myriads dwell,
Who ceaseless sing thy boundless love,
  And all thy glories tell.

             - - - - -

I look beyond the far-off hills,
  O gentle Christ, for Thee:
Come, my Belovèd, it is late,
  The sun goes down on me.

These captive weeks of Babylon
  Make sorrow long delay:
Oh! that I heard the jubilee
  Opening the gates of day.

If from these fetters hard and cold
  My feet were only free,
Long as I lived I would but sing
  The grace of Calvary.

A pilgrim in a desert land
  I wander far and near,
Expecting every hour to find
  My Father's house appear.

- - - - -

I look beyond the distant hills,
  My risen Lord to see;
come, Beloved, ere the dusk,
  My sun doth set on me.

Methinks that were my feet released
  From these afflicting chains,
I would but sing of Calvary,
  Nor think of all my pains.

I long for Thy divine abode,
  Where sinless myriads dwell,
Who ceaseless sing Thy boundless love,
  And all Thy glories tell.

How happy are the saints in those
  Celestial realms above;
Who rest from every pain and grief,
  And sing Thy boundless love.