O Arglwydd tyr'd i lawr

O Arglwydd tyr'd i lawr,
  Mae'n frwydr chwerw iawn,
O foreu las-ddydd
    (heb ei hail)
  Hyd fachlud haul brydnawn.
Mae meiau megis llu,
  Yn gyndyn gry o ryw.
Ac nid oes dim a'u cwympa i lawr,
  Ond gallu mawr fy Nuw.

Am hyn rhof arno 'mhwys.
  Er meint eu cyfrwys lu,
Fel un cystuddiol mi ro' floedd,
  I entrych nefoedd fry,
Mi goda'm dwylaw i'r lann,
  Lluddedig, gwan a gwyw,
Ac ni anghredaf fyn'd yn rhydd,
  Fy nghymorth fydd fy Nuw.

Mi gana' am waed yr Oen,
  Er maint fy mhoen a'm mhla;
Ni cheisiai'n wyneb calon ddu,
  Ond Iesu'r meddyg da:
Fy mlino ge's gan hon,
  A'i throion chwerwon chwith,
Ond dyma'm sail i am y wlad,
  Y cariad a bery byth.

            - - - - -

O! Arglwydd tyr'd i lawr,
  Mae'n frwydr chwerw iawn
O foreu las-ddydd
    (heb ei hail)
  Hyd fachlud haul brydnawn;
Dod râs i nerthu'r gwan,
  A dal fi i'r lan yn gryf
Dan demtasiynau, genllif llawn
  Sy' a'u tonau heb ddim rhif.

Mae'm beiau'n fawr eu grym,
  Megys rhyw fyddin gref
Yn sefyll, fel y creigydd serth,
  Yn erbyn nerth y nef;
Tyr'd, anorchfygol râs,
  Meddianna'r maes yn awr,
A thôr elynion mawr eu llid
  Yn gryno i gyd i'r llawr.

gwelir:
  Fe 'nillodd Iesu'r dydd
  Mi gana' am waed yr Oen
  O f'enaid moria'n ddewr

O Lord, come down!
  The battle is very bitter,
From early morn of day
    (without its equal)
  Until the setting of the afternoon sun.
My faults are like a host,
  Stubbornly of a strong kind.
And nothing will cause their collapse,
  But the great might of my God.

Therefore I will lean on him.
  Despite their crafty host,
Like one afflicted I will give a shout,
  To the vault of heaven above,
I will lift up my hands,
  Exhausted, weak and wizened,
I will not disbelieve to free,
  My help will be my God.

I will sing of the blood of the Lamb,
  Despite my pain and my plague;
No-one could treat a black heart,
  Except Jesus the good physician:
My exhaustion I got by this,
  And its bitter, sinister turns,
But here is my basis for the land,
  The love which endures forever.

                 - - - - -

O Lord, come down!
  It is a very bitter battle
From early morn of day
    (without its equal)
  Until the sunset of evening;
Give grace to strengthen the weak,
  And hold me up strongly
Under temptations, a full torrent
  Which has waves without number.

My faults have great force,
  Like some strong army
Standing, like the steep rocks,
  Against the strength of heaven;
Come, insuperable grace,
  Possess the field now,
And break enemies of great wrath
  All trembling down.

Lord, oh, now come to me,
  For I am sorely
      pressed;
Fainting, I cry, Jesus, come
  And help me to my rest.
Spirit of grace now turn,
  My foes from me to flee;
In battle sore my heart do yearn
  O Lord, my God, to Thee.



















                 - - - - -

Lord, oh, now come to me,
  For I am sorely
      pressed;
Fainting, I cry, Jesus, come
  And help me to my rest.
Spirit of grace now turn,
  My foes from me to flee;
In battle sore my heart do yearn
  O Lord, my God, to Thee.

My sins, like foes, are near,
  Heavy and toilsome load,
They halt my steps through desert drear,
  To reach the saints' abode:
Lord, come, and show Thy grace,
  The foes with haste outcast,
Give me, all through, Thy shining face,
  And bring me home at last.