Pa ddynion hapus yw'r rhai hyn?

Pa ddynion hapus yw'r rhai hyn?
Neu angylion sy' mewn gwisgod gwyn?
  O b'le doi'r gogoneddus lu,
  I wledydd y gogoniant fry?

O'r tân a'r poenau,
    ni waeth p'un,
A'r moroedd mawr o'u gwaed eu hun;
  Ond golchwyd hwynt
      â gwaed uwch radd,
  Sef gwaed yr Oen
      ga's gynt ei ladd.

Nesau maent 'nawr
    at orsedd Duw,
A'u cerddi peraidd o bob rhyw,
  I foli'r Drindod yn ddi-lyth,
  Eu gorchwyl bendigedig byth.

Ni profant newyn
    enaid mwy,
Can's Duw a dyrr eu syched hwy;
  A lleda'i edyn megis llen,
  Rhag poethni'r hail, i gadw'n pen.

Yr Oen sy'n llanw'r orsedd fry,
A dann o'u cylch ei lewyrch cu:
  Cânt wledda ar
      gyflawn gariad Duw,
  Ac yfed byth o'r dyfroedd byw.

Fel hyn y bydd eu gwynfyd hwy
Yn adnewyddu byth fwy-fwy;
  A Duw â'i law icha'n holl-wych
  Eu clwyfau sâl,
      a'u dagrau sych.

             - - - - -

Pa ddynion hapus yw'r rhai hyn
Sy'n hardd eu gwedd
    mewn gwisgod gwyn?
  O b'le doi'r gogoneddus lu,
  I wledydd y gogoniant fry?

O'r tân a'r poenau,
    ni waeth p'un,
A'r moroedd mawr o'u gwaed eu hun:
  Ond golchwyd wynt
      â gwaed uwch radd,
  Sef gwaed yr Oen
      ga'dd gynt ei ladd.

Nesâu y maent at orsedd Duw,

A'u cerddi peraidd o bob rhyw;

  Ni profant newyn
      enaid mwy,

  Can's Duw a dyrr eu syched hwy.


Yr Oen sy'n llanw'r oersedd fry,
A dŕna o'u cylch ei lewyrch cu:
  Cânt wledda'n llon
      ar gariad Duw,
  Ac yfed byth o'r dyfroedd byw.

What happy men are these?
Or angels who are in white clothes?
  Whence comes the glorious host,
  To the feasts of the glory above?

From the fire and the pains,
    no matter what,
And the great seas of their own blood;
  But they were washed
      with the blood above degree,
  That is the blood of the Lamb
      who once was slain.
  
Drawing near they are now
    to the throne of God,
With their sweet music of every kind,
  To praise the Trinity unfailingly,
  Their blessed task forever.

They shall not experience hunger
    of the soul any more,
Since God shall drive away their thirst;
  And extend his wings like a sheet,
  From the second heat, to keep our head.

The Lamb is filling the throne above,
Shall spread around them his dear radiance:
  The shall get to feast on
      the full love of God,
  And drink forever from the living waters.

Thus shall their blessedness be
Renewing forever more and more;
  And God with his hand healing completely
  Their sick wounds,
      and their tears shall dry.

             - - - - -

What happy men are these
Who are beautiful in appearance
    in white clothes?
  Whence comes the glorious host,
  To the feast of the glory above?

From the fire and the pains,
    no matter what
And the great seas of their own blood:
  But they were washed
      with blood above degree,
  That is the blood of the Lamb
      who once was slain.

Approaching they are the throne of God,

With their sweet music of every kind;

  They shall not experience hunger
      of the soul any more,

  Since God shall drive away their thirst.


The Lamb who is filling the throne above,
Shall spread around them his dear radiance:
  They shall get to feast cheerfully
      on the love of God,
  And drink forever from the living waters.

What happy men, or angels, these,
  That all their robes are spotless white?
Whence did this glorious troop arrive
  At the pure realms of heav'nly light?

From torturing racks
    and burning fires,
  And seas of their own blood they came;
But nobler blood
    has washed their robes,
  Flowing from Christ
      the dying Lamb.

Now they approach
    th'almighty throne,
  With loud hosannas night and day;
Sweet anthems to the great Three-One,
  Measure their blest eternity.

No more shall hunger
    pain their souls;
  He bids their paring thirst begone,
And spreads the shadow of His wings
  To screen them from the parching sun.

The Lamb that fills the middle throne
  Shall shed around His milder beams;
There shall they feast
    on His rich love,
  And drink full joys from living streams.

Thus shall their mighty bliss renew
  Through the vast round of endless years;
And the soft hand of sovereign grace
  Heals all their wounds
      and wipes their tears.

             - - - - -

What happy men are these
  That all their robes
      are spotless white?
Whence did this glorious troop arrive
  At the pure realms of heav'nly light?

From torturing racks
    and burning fires,
  And seas of their own blood they came;
But nobler blood
    has washed their robes,
  Flowing from Christ
      the dying Lamb.

Now they approach th'almighty throne,
  With loud hosannas night and day;
Sweet anthems to the great Three-One,
  Measure their blest eternity.

No more shall hunger pain their souls;
  He bids their paring thirst begone,
And spreads the shadow of His wings
  To screen them from the parching sun.

The Lamb that fills the middle throne
  Shall shed around His milder beams;
There shall they feast
    on His rich love,
  And drink full joys from living streams.