O b'le daw'n gwan feddyliau prudd?

O b'le daw'n gwan feddyliau prudd?
Bl'e ffodd ein cryfder ni a'n ffydd?
  A ddarfu i'r fall
    a phechod ladd?
  Ein holl gyssuron o bob gradd.

A 'nghof'som ni'r galluog Iôr
A wnaeth y ddaear oll a'r môr?
  A all y fraich a wnaeth bob peth
  Ddiffygio dim neu fyn'd ar feth?

Trysorau o nerth trag'wyddol sy'
Yn ein Jehofa nefol fry;
  Rhydd oruchafiaeth i'r di-rym,
  A sathra'i
      holl elynion llym.

Nerth dyn yn unig a wanhâ,
A chryfder ie'ngctyd
    blino wna;
  Ond ni fy'n disgwyl wrth ein Duw,
  Cawn nerth fwy-fwy
      tra f'om yn byw.

Saint fel eryrod hedeg wnant,
A phrawf o'r gwynfyd nefol cânt
  Ne's delont i'r dedwydd dir;
  Lle mae digryfwch perffaith pur.

From where come our weak, sad thoughts?
Where fled our strength and our faith?
  Vanish to the pestilence
    and killing sin shall
  All our comforts of every degree?

And have we remembered the mighty Lord
Who made all the earth and the sea?
  And can the arm that made everything
  Fail at all or decline?

The treasures of eternal power are
In our heavenly Jehovah above;
  He gives victory to those without force,
  And he shall trample all
      their keen enemies.

The power of man shall only weaken,
And the strength of the young
    weary it shall;
  But we who wait for our God,
  Shall get power more and more
      while ever we are living.

Saints like eagles fly they shall,
And an experience of the
    heavenly bliss they shall get
  Until they come to the happy land;
  Where there is perfect, pure, pleasure.

Whence do our mournful thoughts arise?
  And where's our courage fled?
Have restless sin
    and raging hell
  Struck all our comforts dead?

Have we forgot th' almighty name
  That formed the earth and sea?
And can an all-creating arm
  Grow weary or decay?

Treasures of everlasting might
  In our Jehovah dwell;
He gives the conquest to the weak
  And treads their
      foes to hell.

Mere mortal power shall fade and die,
  And youthful
      vigour cease:
But we that wait upon the Lord
  Shall feel our
      strength increase.

The saints shall mount on eagles' wings,
  And taste the
      promised bliss,
Till their unwearied feet arrive
  Where perfect pleasure is.