Un aberth mwy nid oes

  Un aberth mwy nid oes,
  Ond Ef fu ar y groes -
Iachawdwr rhad,
    drwy rîn ei waed,
  Fydd im' ryddhâd o'm loes:
Mae'n gadarn Iôr, a'i ras yn stôr,
  Fel môr o drysor drud;
Ac ato Ef, hyd orsedd nef,
Dyrchafaf lef, am noddfa gref, 
  I'm cadw rhag y llid.

  Mi deithia'r anial trwy
  Y rhinwedd sy'n ei glwy';
Fy nghadarn sail yw Adda'r ail -
  Gwnaf f'adail
      arno mwy:
Tragwyddol Graig yw Had y wraig
  Rhag drygau'r ddraig,
      a'i llid;
Mae'n Feddyg da,
    fe'm llwyr wellhâ
O'm dyfnaf bla,
    a'm cànu wna -
  Fy Nghyfaill goreu i gyd!

  Mae'm rhedfa îs y rhod,
  Yn nesu at y nôd:
I'm hymdaith hon,
    îs awyr gron,
  Mae diwedd bron a d'od:
Fy mhabell frau sydd yn llesgâu
  Ac yn gwanhau o hyd;
Ac yn y man daw*r amser pan
Bydd f'enaid gwan yn fywiol ran
  Mewn annherfynol fyd.

  O Dduw! rho im' dy hedd,
  A golwg ar dy wedd,
A maddeu 'n awr fy meiau mawr,
  Cyn 'r elwy' i lawr i'r bedd:
Ond im' gael hyn,
    nid ofna'i'r glyn,
  Na cholyn angeu 'n hwy;
Dof yn dy law i'r ochr draw,
Heb friw na braw, ryw ddydd a ddaw,
  Uwchlaw pob loes a chlwy.

gwelir:
  Mae'm rhedfa îs y rhod
  Mae'r ffynnon heb ei chau
  Mi deithia'r anial trwy
  O Dduw rho im' dy hedd

  There is no more sacrifice,
  But he who was on the cross -
A gracious Saviour,
    through the merit of his blood,
  That shall my freedom from my anguish:
He is a firm Lord, with his grace a store,
  Like a sea of precious treasure;
And unto him, up to the throne of heaven,
I will raise my cry, for a strong refuge,
  To keep me from the wrath.

  I will travel the desert through
  The virtue that is in his wound;
My firm foundation is the second Adam -
  I shall make my building
      upon him evermore:
An eternal Rock is the Seed of the woman
  From the evils of the dragon,
      and his wrath;
He is the good Physician,
    he will completely heal me
From my deepest plague,
    and bleach me he shall -
  My best Friend of all!

  My course under the vault of heaven is
  Approaching it's goal:
To this procession of mine,
    under the round sky,
  The end has almost come:
My fragile tent is growing feeble
  And weakening still;
And in a while shall come the time when
My weak soul shall be a lively part
  In an unending world.

  O God, give me thy peace!
  And a view upon thy countenance,
And forgive now my great faults,
  Before I go down to the grave:
If I but get this,
    I shall not fear the vale,
  Nor the the sting of death any more;
I shall come in thy hand to yonder side,
Without terror or horror, some day to come,
  Above all anguish and illness.