O chwiliwn yr Ysgrythyr lân

O chwiliwn yr Ysgrythyr lân,
Am destun wna dragwyddol gân;
  Mae ynddi drysor
      canmil gwell
  Na holl fwngloddiau'r India bell.

Mae'n son am drysor marwol glwy',
Na fedd y nefoedd
    wen ei fwy;
  Caniadau'r saint
      fydd byth yn un
  Am gyfoeth iachawdwriaeth dyn.

Mae'n sôn am ffynnon i lanhau,
A'r gwir oludoedd sy'n parhau,
  Cyfiawnder, a maddeuant llawn
  I'r euog,
      trwy anfeidrol Iawn.

O chwiliwn
    gyrau'r maes i gyd,
Gan gloddio am y trysor drud;
  Mae'n gyfoeth heb ei fath yn awr,
  A'i werth â'n fwy
      trwy'r eilfyd mawr.

Oh let us search the holy Scripture,
For a topic that will make an eternal song;
  There is in it a treasure
      a hundred thousandfold better
  Than all the mines of distant India.

It tells of the treasure of a mortal wound,
Than which blessed heaven
    possesses nothing greater;
  The songs of the saints
      will be forever the same
  About the wealth of man's salvation.

It tell of a fount to cleanse,
And the true riches that are enduring,
  Righteousness, and full forgiveness
  For the guilty,
      through infinite Atonement.

Oh let us search
    all the corners of the field,
By digging for the valuable treasure;
  It is wealth without its like now,
  And its worth becomes greater
      through the great second world.