Pa'm y tristhawn ar ol y saint
Nid marw ond ymado maent;
  'Dyw angau ond cennad
      Crist o'r nef,
  I'w galw hwynt i'w freichiau ef.

Onid y'm ninnau'n awr o hyd,
Am dynnu fynu i'r nefol fyd?
  Dymuno i'r amser dd'od,
      gael myn'd
  At Iesu ein hanwylaf ffrynd!

Paham yr ofnwn mewn un wêdd
Drosglwyddo cyrph y saint i'r bedd?
  Yno bu cnawd yr Iesu pûr,
  A gadwodd arogl peraidd hîr.

Oddi yno cododd, fynu'r aeth,
A dangos i ni'r ffordd a wnaeth;
  At Dduw lle hêd ein
      llwch o'r llawr,
  Ar ddydd yr adgyfodiad mawr!

Yr udgorn ola' seinia'n syn,
Ac eirch i'n godi
    pawb pryd hyn;
  "Dihunwch bobloedd" fydd ei lêf
  "A'r saint esgynwch fry i'r nêf.

              - - - - -

Pam y tristâwn ar ol y saint?
Yn huno yn yr Iesu maent:
  Daeth angau, cenad
      Brenin nef,
  I'w galw fry i'w fynwes Ef.

Ni raid galaru mewn un wedd
Wrth wel'd eu rhoi
    yn ngwaelod bedd;
  Bu yno gorff yr Iesu pur,
  O'u blaen, yn perarogli'r tir.

Ond codi wnaeth, esgynodd fry,
Agorodd ddrws y nef i ni,
  Lle'r hed ein llwch o bridd y llawr
  Ar fore'r adgyfodiad mawr.

Why do we grieve for the saints?
Not died but departed they have;
  Death is only an emissary
      of Christ from heaven,
  To call them to his arms.

Do not we also now still,
Want to draw up to the heavenly world?
  Wishing for the time to come,
      to get to go
  To Jesus our dearest friend!

Why do we fear in the same way
To convey the saints' bodies to the grave?
  There the flesh of pure Jesus was,
  Which left a long, sweet scent.

From there he arose, up he went,
And show to us the way he did;
  To God where our dust
      of the ground flew,
  On the day of the great resurrection!

The last trumpet shall sound 
And command us everyone
    of us to rise then;
  "Awaken, ye peoples," shall be his cry
  "And ye saints, ascend up to heaven."

              - - - - -

Why do we grieve for the saints?
Sleeping in Jesus they are:
  Death came, the emissary
      of the King of heaven,
  To call them above to his breast.

There is no need to lament in one form
Seeing them put in the
    bottom of the grave;
  There was the body of pure Jesus,
  Before them, aromatising the ground.

But rise he did, he ascended above,
He opened the door of heaven to us,
  Where the dust of the earth below
  On the morn of the great resurrection.

Why do we mourn departing friends,
  Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice
    that Jesus sends
  To call them to His arms.

Are we not tending upward, too,
  As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish
    the hours more slow
  To keep us from our love.

Why should we tremble to convey
  Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
   And left a long perfume.

Thence He arose, ascending high,
  And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our
    flesh shall fly,
  At the great rising day.

Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
  And bid our
      kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground;
  Ye saints, ascend the skies.

              - - - - -

Why do we mourn departing friends,
  Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice
    that Jesus sends
  To call them to His arms.

The graves of all His saints He blessed,
  And softened
      every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
  But with the dying Head?

Thence He arose, ascending high,
  And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
  At the great rising day.