Myfi yw'r gangen Crist yw'r pren

Myfi yw'r gangen, Crist yw'r pren,
  Ar bêr winwydden nefol;
Duw, tynodd fi о'm gwraidd fy hun,
  Gael nodded un ysbrydol.

'E ddarfu'r waedlyd waywffon
  Wneud уп ei fron ef rwygiad,
I allu о hono roi yn hael,
  A minau gael o'i gariad.

Ei Ysbryd ef a ffydd ynghyd
  Sydd yn ein cyd-gysylltu;
Fel hyn ymwasgu dwylaw 'r y'm,
  Fel nad all dim wahanu.

Tra bo'r gwreiddyn yn y tir,
  Y gangen îr ni chrina;
Tra gras y bywyd yn fy Nghrist,
  Fy enaid trist ni threnga.

Fy Mhrynwr cu, ni ddarfu 'rioed
  I'r cangau a'i' coed ymgydìo;
'Mor agos ag y mynwn i,
  Gael â thydi ymuno.

I am the branch, Christ is the tree,
  On the sweet, heavenly vine;
God, he pulled me from my own root,
  To get the protection of a spiritual one.

Him the bloody spear ended,
  That made in his breast a split,
To enable from it to give generosity,
 And me to receive from his love.

His Spirit and faith together
  Are connecting us with each other;
Thus squeezing our hands we are,
  So that nothing can separated them.

While ever the root is in the ground,
  The fresh branch shall not wither;
While ever the grace of the life in Christ,
  My sad soul shall not die.

My dear Redeemer, the branch and its tree
  Shall never stop grasping each other;
As close as I will,
  To get with thee to join.