Ti folir yn y nêf

  Ti folir yn y nêf
    Gan engyl glân eu bryd,
  Dysg ni ar lafar lef
    I'th foli'n fwy o hyd,
A rhin dy glwy
      y mawl pob sant
Fo dyfnaf dant
      y moliant mwy.

  Boed mwy o'r sanctiadd hwyl
    A mwy o'r dwyfol dân,
  A mwy o naws yr wyl
    Nefolaidd, yn ein cân,
A derbyn drwy delynau'th blant
Bob peraidd dant o'r moliant mwy.

  Dwg eraill lawer iawn
    I mewn i'r côr yn awr,
  Sancteiddia Di bob dawn
    Yn un gymanfa fawr,
Na foed yn hwy un segur dant
Heb uno a'r plant mewn moliant mwy.

  Thou who art praised in heaven
    By angels of a holy countenance,
  Teach us with a vocal cry
    To praise thee for evermore,
And may the merit of thy wound
      that all saints praise
Be the deepest string of
      the praise evermore.

  May there be more of the sacred joy
    And more of the divine fire,
  And more of the savour of the heavenly
    Festival, in our song,
And receive through thy children's harps
Every sweet string of the praise evermore.

  Bring very many others
    Into the choir now,
  Sanctify thou every gift
    In the great assembly,
May there no longer be any idle string
Not joining the children in praise anymore.