O Ynys Ia fynyddig

O Ynys Ia fynyddig,
  O draethau India fawr,
Lle cluda ffrydiau Affrig
  Y tywod aur i lawr;
O lawer gwlad ddyfradwy,
  Lle tyf y palmwydd ffaeth,
Erfyniant ein cynnorthwy,
  Rhag grym
      coelgrefydd gaeth.

Er chwythu'n bêr dros ynys
  Ceylon awelon hael,
A phob golygfa'n foddus,
  Yn unig dyn sy'n wael;
Yn ofer mewn tiriondeb,
  Cael rhoddion Duw ar daen,
Y Pagan trwy ddallineb
  Addola bren a maen.

A allwn ni, oleuwyd
  Drwy rad y nefoedd fry,
Nacäu rhoi llusern bywyd
  I'r sawl mewn t'wyllwch sy'?
Gyhoedder Iachawdwriaeth
  A gorfoleddus lef,
Nes dysgo'r byd wybodaeth
  O enw Eneiniog nef.

Ewch wyntoedd, ewch a'r newydd, 
  A chwithau, foroedd mawr,
Nes bo'i ogonawl gynnydd
  Yn llenwi daear lawr;
A boed i'r Oen a laddwyd,
  Ar ei waredol ryw
Deyrnasu fyth mewn gwynfyd,
  Yn Brynwr ac yn Dduw.

gwelir:
  A allwn ni oleuwyd?
  O Greenland oer fynyddig

From the mountainous Isle of Ice,
  From great India's beaches,
Where Africa's streams bring
  The golden sand down;
From many a watery land,
  Where the luxuriant palm trees grow,
They plead for our help,
  Against the force
      of captive superstition.

Although sweetly over the island
  Of Ceylon blow generous winds,
And every pleasing view,
  Man alone is bad;
In vain in tenderness,
  The gifts of God get spread,
The Pagan through his blindness
  Worships wood and stone.

And can we, enlightened
  Through the grace of heaven above,
Deny the giving of the lantern of life
  To those who are in darkness?
May Salvation be published
  With a jubilant cry,
Until teaching the world the knowledge
  Of the name of the Anointed of heaven.

Go ye winds, take the news,
  And ye, great seas,
Until a glorious increase be
  Filling the earth below;
And may the Lamb who was slain,
  Over his delivered ones
Reign forever in blessedness,
  As Redeemer and as God.

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.