O tyn (Y gorchudd yn y mynydd hyn)

      O tyn
Y gorchudd yn y mynydd hyn!
Llewyrched haul cyfiawnder gwyn
  O ben y bryn
          bu'r Addfwyn Oen
    Yn dioddef dan yr hoelion dur
  O gariad pur i mi mewn poen.

      P'le, p'le
Y gwnaf fy noddfa dan y ne'
Ond yn Ei archoll ddwyfol E'?
  Y bicell gre'
          aeth dan Ei fron
     Agorodd ffynnon i'm glanhau -
  'Rwy'n llawenhau fod lle yn hon.

      Oes, oes -
Mae rhin a grym
        yng ngwaed y groes
I lwyr lanhau
        holl feiau f'oes:
  Ei ddwyfol loes a'i ddyfal lef
    Mewn gweddi drosof at y Tad
  Yw fy rhyddhad a'm hawl i'r nef.

      Golch fi
Oddi wrth fy meiau aml eu rhi'
Yn afon waedlyd Calfari
  Sydd heddiw'n lli o haeddiant llawn:
    Dim trai ni welir
            arni mwy,
  Hi bery'n hwy na
          bore a nawn.

1797 Hugh Jones 1749-1825

              - - - - -
              1,2,(3,4).

      O tyn
Y gorchudd yn y mynydd hyn;
Llewyrched Haul cyfiawnder gwyn
  O ben y bryn
            bu'r addfwyn Oen
    Yn dioddef dan yr hoelion dur
  O gariad pur i mi, mewn poen.

      Pa le
Y gwnaf fy noddfa dan y ne',
Ond yn ei archoll dyfnion e'?
  Y bicell gre'
        aeth dan ei fron,
    Agorodd ffynnon i'm glanhau;
  'R wy'n llawenhau
        bod lle yn hon.

      Gwych sain,
Fydd eto am
    y goron ddrain,
Yr hoelion llym, a'r bicell fain,
  Wrth gofio rhain
          caiff uffern glwy'
    Carcharau tynion aeth yn rhydd,
  Fe gaed y dydd, Hosanna mwy.

      I'r làn,
Os bydd in' dd'od o'r anial fân,
Bydd hyfryd seinio yn y màn,
  Pawb yn ei ran yn moli'r Oen,
    Mewn melus anthem, newydd iaith,
  Ar ben y daith
          heb friw na phoen.

gwelir:
  Golch ni (Oddiwrth ein beiau aml ri')
  Gras gras (Yn genllif grymus ddaeth i maes)
  Gwych sain (Fydd eto am y goron ddrain)
  Mae mae (Y dydd yn d'od i'r duwiol rai)
  Oes oes (Mae rhin a grym yn ngwaed y groes)
  Pa le (Y gwnaf fy noddfa dan y ne')?
  Rhad ras (Yw'r newydd gân bereiddia'i blas)

      O remove
The cover in this mountain!
Let the bright sun of righteousness shine
  From the top of the hill
          where the Dear Lamb
    Suffered under the nails of steel
  From pure love to me in agony.

      Where, where
Do I make my refuge under heaven
But in His divine gash?
  The strong pike which
          went under his breast
    Opened a spring to cleanse me -
  I am rejoicing that this is where.

      Yes, there is -
There is virtue and strength
        in the blood of the cross
To completely cleanse
        all the sins of my age:
  His divine anguish and his persistent cry
    In prayer for me to the Father
  Is my freedom and my right to heaven.

      Wash me
From my sins, manifold their number
In the bloody river of Calvary
  Which flows today from full merit:
    Not ebbing, than it
            no greater to be seen,
  It shall remain later than
          morning and afternoon.

                - - - - -


      O remove
The covering in this mountain;
Let the bright Sun of righteousness shine
  From the summit of the hill
        where the dear Lamb was
    Suffering under the steel nails
  From pure love for me, in pain.

      Where
Shall I make my refuge under heaven,
But in his deep wounds?
  The strong spear that
          went under his breast,
    Opened a fount to cleanse me;
  I am rejoicing that
          there is room in this.

      A marvellous sound,
There shall yet be about
        the crown of thorns,
The sharp nails, and the slim pike,
  While remembering those
          he gets a hellish wound
    Fast prisoners went free,
  He won the day, Hosanna evermore.

      Up, up
If we shall come from the desert place,
It will be delightful to sound soon,
  Each in his part praising the Lamb,
    In a sweet anthem, a new language,
  At the journey's end
          without wound or pain.

      Remove
The veil in this dear Mount of love,
And let the sun stand still above
  Where once, reprovèd
          and beshrewed,
    The Lamb of God was made to feel
  The piercing steel, for my great good.

      For me
No refuge anywhere can be,
But in His wounds on Calvary:
  A fount I see
          in that dear side
    Which hath received the cruel spear -
  My soul, draw near the healing tide.

      Mine, mine,
The virtue of that
        cross of Thine,
To cleanse my soul
        from evil sign:
  The woe divine - the tearful plea
    Incessant at the throne of light -
  Have won the right of heaven for me.

      Oh, cleanse
My life of every sinful sense
In that pure stream of innocence -
  My sole defence and benison:
    Its tide shall
            never ebb again,
  But shall remain
          when time is done.

              - - - - -


      O rend
The veil that hides the mount, and send
The Sun of righteousness to end
  The night extended
        on the hill,
Whereon the cruel nails He bore -
  'Twas love outpoured, y pain to still.

      O where
Shall I a refuge find but there
Within the wounds that Jesus bore?
  The spear that
        tore so cruelly,
A fount set free to cleanse my sin;
  O joy therein
          there's room for me!