Mor ddirgel ydyw ffyrdd ein Iôr

Mor ddirgel ydyw ffyrdd ein Iôr
  Yn dwyn yn mlaen ei waith!
Mae'n marchog weithiau yn y môr
  Gan frwyno'i 'stormydd maith.


Mae t'wyllwch a chymylau'n toi
  Dybenion doeth ein Rhi;
A dirgel rod mewn rhod yn troi
  Uwchlaw ein deall ni.


Ond er myn'd heibio yn y tân,
  Y gwynt a'r ddaeargryn,
Fe glyw ei blant ei ddystaw lef
  Yn traethu hedd er hyn.


Yr tew gymylau duon sydd
  Yn awr yn toi y nen,
Yn lle ystorm, dyhidlo wnant
  Wlith bendith ar eu pen.


Am hyn nac ofnant unrhyw bryd,
  Er maint eu
      blinfyd mwy;
Drwy'r rhagluniaethau chwerwaf oll
  Mae'n gwenu arnynt hwy.

How mysterious are the ways of our Lord
  To lead on his work!
He rides now in the sea
  Reigning his vast storms.


Darkness and clouds are roofing
  The wise purposes of our Chief;
And a secret circle in a circle turning
  Above our understanding.


But although going past in the fire,
  The wind and the earthquake,
His children hear his quiet call
  Expounding peace despite this.


The thick, black clouds that are
  Now roofing the sky,
Instead of a storm, distil they shall
  The dew of blessing on their head.


Therefore they shall not fear at any time,
  Despite how grievous
      their world any more;
Though the bitterest of all providences
  He is smiling upon them.

God moves in a mysterious way,
  His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
  And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
  Of never failing skill;
He treasures up his bright designs,
  And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take,
  The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
  In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
  But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
  He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
  Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
  But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
  And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
  And he will make it plain.