Mae bod yn fyw o/yn fawr ryfeddod

Mae bod yn fyw o fawr ryfeddod
  O fewn ffwrneisiau sydd mor boeth,
Ond mwy rhyfedd, wedi 'mhrofi,
  Y dof i'r canol
      fel aur coeth;
Amser cannu, diwrnod nithio,
  Eto'n dawel, heb ddim braw;
Y Gwr a fydd i mi'n ymguddfa
  Y sydd â'r wyntyll yn ei law.

Blin yw 'mywyd gan elynion
  Am eu bod yn amal iawn;
Fy amgylchu maent fel gwenyn
  O foreddydd hyd brynhawn;
A'r rhai o'm tŷ fy hun yn benna'
  Yn blaenori uffernol gad;
Trwy gymorth gras
    yr wyf am bara
  I ryfela hyd at waed.

              - - - - -

Mae bod yn fyw yn fawr rhyfeddod
  Mewn ffwrneisiau sydd mor boeth;
Ond mwy rhyfeddod wedi 'mhrofi
  Y d'of o'r cystudd
    fel aur coeth;
Amser canu diwrnod nithio,
  Etto'n dawel heb ddim braw.
Y gwr sydd i mi yn ymguddfa,
  Sydd â'r wyntyll yn ei law.

Mae'r dydd yn do'd i'r had brenhinol
  Gael mordwyo tu a'u gwlad,
O gaethiwed y priddfeini,
  I deyrnasu gydâ'u Tad:
Eu ffydd yno a dry'n olwg,
  A'u gobaith eiddil yn fwynhad,
Annherfynol fydd yr anthem,
  Derchafu'r Oen a'i werthfawr waed.

Bererin llesg gan rym ystormydd,
  Cyfodd olwg gwel y wawr,
Yr Oen yn gweini'r swydd gyfryngol,
  Mewn gwisgoedd lleision hyd y llawr,
Gwregys auraidd o ffyddlondeb,
  Wrth ei odre clychau'n llawn;
Llwyr faddeuant i bechadur,
  Ar gyfrif ei anfeidrol iawn.

Being alive is of a great wonder
  From within furnaces which are so hot,
But more wonderful, after my trial,
  I shall come to the centre
      like fine gold;
A time of bleaching, a day of winnowing,
   Still quiet, without any terror;
The Man who shall be for me a hiding-place
  Has the winnowing fan in his hand.

Wearied is my life by enemies
  Since they are so manifold;
Surrounding me they are like bees
  From morning until evening;
And those of my own house chiefly
  Leading the infernal army;
Through the help of thy grace
    I want to continue
  To battle as far as blood.

                 - - - - -

Being alive is a great wonder
  In furnaces that are so hot;
But a greater wonder having experienced
  That I came from the affliction
      like refined gold;
A time to sing of a day of winnowing,
  Yet quiet without any terror.
The man who a hiding place for me,
  Has the winnowing fan in his hand.

The day is coming for the royal seed
  To get to voyage towards their land,
From the captivity of the bricks,
  To reign with their Father:
Their faith then shall turn to sight,
  And their feeble hope into enjoyment,
Endless shall be the anthem,
  Exalting the Lamb and his precious blood.

A pilgrim enfeebled by the force of storms,
  Got a sight of the vista of the dawn,
The Lamb performing the mediatory role,
  In loose garments down to the ground,
A golden belt of faithfulness,
  With his fringe full of bells;
Complete forgiveness for sinners,
  On account of his immeasurable atonement.

Wonderful to come out living