Pa le mae'r medelwyr?

Pa le mae'r medelwyr
    sy'n casglu 'nghyd,
Ysgubau'r cynhauaf
    ar faes y byd?
  Ymroddwn i weithio
      yn nerth y nef
  Nes cael cynhauaf
      i gyd i dref.

    Codwch fedelwyr,
        unwch yn awr
    Y'ngwaith gogoneddus
        y cynhaua' mawr,
      Dewch cynorthwywch
          i gasglu 'nghyd
      Gynhauaf ffrwythlawn
          Gwaredwr y byd.

Ewch allan a chesglwch
    yr oll i dref,
Yr oll o gynhauaf
    y byd i'r nef;
  Ewch allan i'r prif-fyrdd
      a'r caeau'i gyd,
  A dygwch i fewn
      o bob parth o'r byd.

Mae meusydd y ddaear
    yn toni'n llawn
O hardd dywysenau
    yn addfed iawn,
  Y chydig yw'r gweithwyr
      a'r gwaith sydd fawr,
  Mae'r Arglwydd yn galw,
      dewch allan 'nawr.

Mae'r meusydd yn wynion,
    a'r haul uwchben
Yn gwenu yn hafaidd
    yn entrych nen;
  Dewch allan i weithio,
      cawn fynd' i'r nef
  I ganu pan ddaw
      y cynhaua' i dref.

Where are the reapers
    who are gathering together,
The sheaves of the harvest
    on the field of the world?
  Let us commit ourselves to work
      in the strength of heaven
  Until getting the harvest
      all home.

    Arise ye reapers,
        unite now
    In the glorious work
        of the great harvest,
      Come ye, help ye
          to gather together
      The fruitful harvest
          of the Deliverer of the world.

Go ye out and gather
    all home,
All of the harvest
    of the world to heaven;
  Go out into the highways
      and all the fields,
  And bring in
      from every region of the world.

The fields of the world
    are waving fully
With beautiful ears
    very ripe,
  Few are the workers
      and the work is great,
  The Lord is calling,
      come ye out now.

The fields are white,
    and the sun overhead
Smiling summerly
    in the vault of the sky;
  Come ye out to work,
      you will get to go to heaven
  To sing when the harvest
      comes home.

O where are the reapers
     that garner in
The sheaves of the good
     from the fields of sin?
  With sickles of truth
       must the work be done,
  And no one may rest
       till the "harvest home."

    Where are the reapers?
        O who will come
    And share in the glory
        of the "harvest home"?
      O who will help us
          to garner in
      The sheaves of good
          from the fields of sin?

Go out in the byways
    and search them all;
The wheat may be there
    but the weeds are tall;
  Then search in the highway,
       and pass none by;
  But gather them all
       for the home on high.

The fields are all ripening,
    and far and wide
The world now is waiting
    the harvest tide:
  But reapers are few,
      and the work is great,
  And much will be lost
      should the harvest wait.

So come with your sickles,
    ye sons of men,
And gather together
    the golden grain;
  Toil on till the Lord
      of the harvest come,
  Then share ye His joy
      in the "harvest home."