O fryniau iâ gwerddonig

O fryniau iâ gwerddonig,
  O draethau'r India fawr,
Lle gyr ffynnonau Affrig
  Eu hauraidd rô i lawr;
O lawer henaidd afon,
  O dir y palmwydd cau,
Mae galwad, Rhowch ni'n rhyddion
  O rwym crefyddau gau!

Faint lles
    awalon hyfryd,
  Dros Ceylon, ffrwythydd ffrau!
Pob gwyrthddrych fel o'r cynfyd, -
  Ond meddwl dyn sydd gau;
Trwy ofer afradlondeb,
  Dug roddion Duw
    o'u grân, -
Yr ethnig, trwy ddallineb,
  A blyg i bren a ma'n.

A feiddiwn ni, oleuwyd
  A doethder nefoedd ddydd,
I gelu llusern bywyd
  Rhag myrdd mewn t'wllwch sydd?
Iachineb, O! iachineb,
  Aed hyfryd sain ar led,
Cenhedloedd gwyll marwoldeb
  Yn Nghrist fo'i rhoi eu crêd.

Ewch, wyntoedd, ewch â'r newydd, -
  Chwi ddyfroedd, ewch yn nghyd, -
Nes fel yn fôr boed cynnydd
  Gogoniant trwy'r holl fyd:
Ac ar yr hil bwrcasol
  Bo neb ond Crist yn Ben, -
Gwaredwr, Deddfwr dwyfol,
  Teyrnased fyth. Amen.

From greenish hill of ice,
  From the beaches of great India,
Where the springs of Africa drive
  Their golden grains down;
From many an ancient river,
  From the land of the hollow palms,
There is a call: Set us free
  From the bondage of empty belief!

The extent of the benefit
    of the lovely breezes,
  Across Ceylon, gushing fruits!
Every object as from antiquity, -
  But the thoughts of man are vain;
Through the uselessness of prodigality,
  They bring the gifts of God
    from their grain, -
The heathen, through blindness,
  Who bow to wood and stone.

And dare we, enlightened
  With the wisdom of heavenly day,
Hide the lantern of life
  From a myriad who are in darkness?
Salvation, oh salvation!
  Let a lovely sound go abroad,
May nations of the darkness of mortality
  In Christ be putting their belief!

Go, winds, take the news, -
  Ye waters, go together, -
Until as a sea let there be increase
  Of glory throughout the whole world:
And over the ransomed race
  Be none but Christ as Head, -
Deliverer, divine Judge,
  Let his reign forever. Amen.

From Greenland's icy mountains,
  From India's coral strand;
Where Afric's sunny fountains
  Roll down their golden sand:
From many an ancient river,
  From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
  Their land from error's chain.

What though
    the spicy breezes
  Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
Though every prospect pleases,
  And only man is vile?
In vain
    with lavish kindness
  The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness
  Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we, whose souls are lighted
  With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to those benighted
  The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! O salvation!
  The joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth's remotest nation
  Has learned Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,
  And you, ye waters, roll
Till, like a sea of glory,
  It spreads from pole to pole:
Till o'er our ransomed nature
  The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, king, creator,
  In bliss returns to reign.