Ni chefais i yma erioed

  Ni chefais i yma erioed 
    Ond gwaetha' cnawd a byd, 
  O mewn, o maes bob awr,
    Yn curo arna'i yn nghyd;
Mi ffo, mi ffo ryw ddydd i'r lan,
Ceir gwel'd fod
      congcwest gan y gwan. 

  Mi flinais gan fy chwant,
    Mae fy serchiadau i'n bwn,
  'R wy'n gruddfan bron o hyd
    O tan yr archoll hwn;
O doed yr awr na bo'n fy mryd
Ond caru 'Mhrynwr mawr o hyd.

  Wel dere, foreu ddydd,
    Diwrnod goreu'n fyw,
  Ac na bo gen' i ddim
    I'w garu ond fy Nuw;
Efe a'i groes, Efe a'i wae,
Wna i'm henaid egwan lawenhau.

  Mae ei groes E'n well na'r gwin,
    Mae'r hoelion fel y mêl,
  Mi ymbortha' ar y rhai'n,
    A doed hi fel y dêl;
Mae mwy o wledd ar groes fy Nuw
Nag allwn draethu trafo'm byw.

  Caned breninoedd gwych
    Am rwysg a
          gallu'r byd;
  A chaned India byth
    Am aur a pherlau drud;
Fy enaid i, bob dydd, bob nos,
A gân i'r Hwn fu ar y groes.

              - - - - -

  Ni chefais yma erioed,
    Ond gwaethaf cnawd a byd,
  O fewn, o faes, bob awr,
    Yn curo arna'i ynghyd;
Mi ffo'f, mi ffo'f, ryw ddydd i'r làn,
Ceir gwel'd fod
      concwest gan y gwàn.

  Darfydded pob rhyw chwant,
    Ond chwant i dy fwynhâu;
  Pob cariad ffoed i ffwrdd,
    Ond cariad fo'n parhau;
Darfydded swn a therfysg byd,
Bydd di yn gyfan imi gyd.

  O tyred foreu ddydd
    Diwrnod goreu'n fyw,
  Na fyddo genyf ddim
    I'w garu, ond fy Nuw;
Efe a'i groes, Efe a'i wae,
Wna i'm henaid egwan lawenhâu.

  Ei groes sydd well nâ'r gwin,
    Mae'r hoelion fel y mêl,
  Ymborthaf ar y rhai'n,
    A doed hi fel y dêl;
Mae mwy o wledd ar groes fy Nuw
Nag allaf draethu tra f'wyf byw.

  Caned brenhinoedd gwych,
    Am rwysg a
          gallu'r byd;
  A chaned Indiaid byth,
    Am aur a pherlau drud;
Fy enaid i, bob dydd, bob nos,
A gân i'r Hwn fu ar y gro's.

  Ennynaist ynof dân,
    Perffeithiaf dân y nef,
  Na's gall y moroedd mawr,
    I Ddiffodd mo 'no ef;
Mae'th lais, mae'th wedd,
      Mae gwel'd dy waed,
Yn rhoi pob gelyn tan fy nhraed.

  Wel dyma'r gwrthddrych cun,
    A dyma'r lle a'r awr,
  Cyssegraf fi fy hun
    Yn llwyr i'm Harglwydd mawr;
Ffarwel, ffarwel, bob eilun mwy,
Mae cariad Iesu'n drech nâ hwy.

  Er cymmaint ydyw grym
    Teganau maith y byd, -
  Parodrwydd uffern faith
    I'w galw hwynt ynnghyd,
Mae llawer mwy nag fedd y nef,
O bleser yn ei gwm'ni Ef.

gwelir:
  Ennynaist ynof dân
  Mae caru Mhrynwr mawr
  O dychwel Arglwydd mawr

  I never got anything here
    But the worst of flesh and world,
  Within, without every hour
    Beating upon me altogether;
I shall flee, I shall flee up some day,
It shall be seen that
      the weak have a victory.

  I was wearied by my lust,
    My affections are a burden,
  I am groaning almost always
    Under this wound;
O may the hour come when my mind
Is only loving my great Redeemer always.

  Now come, morn of day,
    The best day alive,
  And that I have nothing
    To love but my God;
'Tis he and his cross, he and his woe,
That shall make my weak soul rejoice.

  His cross is better than the wine,
    The nails are like the honey,
  I shall feed on these,
    Come what may;
There is more of a feast on my God's cross
Than I could expound while ever I live.

  Let brilliant kings sing
    About the ostentation and
         power of the world;
  And let India sing forever
    About gold and precious pearls;
My soul, every day, every night,
Shall sing to him who was on the cross.

                 - - - - -

  Inever got anything here
    But the worst of flesh and world,
  Within, without, every hour,
    Beating upon my altogether;
I shall flee, I shall flee, up some day,
It shall be seen that
      the weak have a victory.

  Let every kind of lust vanish,
    But a lust to enjoy thee;
  Every love let it flee away,
    But a love that endures;
Let the sound and tumult of a world vanish,
Be thou wholly for me altogether.

  O come, morn of day
    The best day alive,
  When I shall have nothing
    To love, but my God;
'Tis he and his cross, he and his woe,
That shall make my weak soul rejoice.

  His cross is better than the wine,
    The nails are like the honey,
  I shall feed on these,
    Come what may;
There is more of a feast on my God's cross
Than I can expound while ever I life.

  Let brilliant kings sing
    About the ostentation
          and power of the world;
  And let Indians sing forever
    About gold and precious pearls;
My soul, every day, every night,
Shall sing to him who was on the cross.

  Thou didst kindle within me a fire,
    The most perfect fire of heaven,
  That the great seas cannot
    Extinguish;
Thy voice is, thy countenance is,
      Seeing thy blood is,
Putting every enemy under my feet.

  See here is the dear object,
    And here is the place and the hour,
  I shall consecrate myself
    Completely to by great Lord;
Farewell, farewell, every idol evermore,
The love of Jesus is mightier than they.

  Although so much is force
    Of the vast trinkets of the world, -
  The preparedness of vast hell
    To call them together,
There is much more that heaven possesses,
Of pleasure in his company.