Yr oedd cant namyn un o'r praidd mewn hedd

Yr oedd cant namyn un
    o'r praidd mewn hedd,
  Dan ofal y Bugail o hyd;
Ond aeth un ar goll,
    gan grwydro y'mhell,
  A gadael y gorlan glŷd;
Draw, draw i'r mynyddoedd
    a'r anial maith,
Heb Fugail, heb gysgod,
    na phorfa chwaith.

O Arglwydd, mae genyt
    dy gant namyn un,
  Ai nid digon yw hyn i ti?
"Na, na," medd y Bugail, -
    "Fy nafad hon
  Aeth i grwydro oddiwrthyf Fi;
Er mor arw yw'r ffordd,
    i'r anial yr af,
A cheisio fy nafad
    yno wnaf."

Ni ddeallodd nac angel pur
    na sant
  Y dyfroedd a ddaeth i'w ran,
Na dwysder y nos
    a gyfarfu efe
  Pan yn ceisio ei ddafad wan:
Yn llesg a di-nerth,
    yn marw 'roedd hi,
Ond yn yr anialwch
    fe glywodd ei chri.

Pa ryw goch ddiferynau
    trwy y daith
  Sydd yn nodi ôl dy draed?
Er dwyn y grwydredig
    eto'n ôl
  Y Bugail a roes ei waed.
Dy ddwylaw a'th draed,
    pa dyllau yw'r rhain?
Fe'u gwanwyd, fe'u rhwygwyd
    gan y drain.

Trwy yr eang fynyddoedd,
    o'r creigiau serth,
  Daw yr adsain fel taran gref, -
"Llawenhewch, mi gefais
    fy nafad hon,
  Llawenhewch holl deulu'r nef:"
Mae'r Bugail yn llawen,
     er colli Ei waed,
Trwy'r nef mae gorfoledd,
     y ddafad a gaed.

There were a hundred less one
    of the flock in peace,
  Under the care of the Shepherd still;
But one went missing
    wandering far,
  And leaving the secure fold;
Yonder, yonder to the mountains
    and the vast desert,
Without a Shepherd, without a shade,
    nor pasture either.

O Lord, thou hast
    thy hundred less one,
  Is that not sufficient for thee?
"No, no," says the Shepherd, -
    "This sheep of mine
  Went to wander away from Me;
Although rough is the road,
    to the desert I shall go,
And search for my sheep
    there I shall do."

Neither pure angel
    nor saint understood
  The waters which came to his part,
Nor the intensity of the night
    which he met
  When seeking his weak sheep:
Fainting and strengthless,
    dying was it,
But in the desert
    he heard its cry.

What kind of red drops
    through the journey
  Are marking the prints of thy feet?
Although bringing the wanderer
    back again
  The Shepherd gave his blood.
Thy hands and thy feet,
    what holes are those?
He was weakened, he was torn
    by the thorns.

Through the wide mountains,
    from the steep rocks,
  Comes the echo like strong thunder, -
"Rejoice, I found
    this sheep of mine,
  Rejoice all ye family of heaven:"
The Shepherd is joyful,
    despite shedding His blood,
Through heaven there is jubilation,
    the sheep was found.

There were ninety and nine
    that safely lay
  In the shelter of the fold.
But one was out
    on the hills away,
  Far off from the gates of gold.
Away on the mountains
    wild and bare.
Away from the tender
    Shepherd’s care.

"Lord, Thou hast here
    Thy ninety and nine;
  Are they not enough for Thee?"
But the Shepherd made answer:
    "This of Mine
  Has wandered away from Me;
And although the road
    be rough and steep,
I go to the desert
    to find My sheep."

But none of the ransomed
    ever knew
  How deep were the waters crossed;
Nor how dark was the night
    the Lord passed through
  Ere He found His sheep that was lost.
Out in the desert
    He heard its cry,
Sick and helpless
    and ready to die.

"Lord, whence are those blood drops
    all the way
  That mark out the mountain's track"
"They were shed for one
    who had gone astray
  Ere the Shepherd could bring him back."
"Lord, whence are Thy hands
    so rent and torn?"
"They are pierced tonight
    by many a thorn."

And all through the mountains,
    thunder riven
  And up from the rocky steep,
There arose a glad cry
    to the gate of Heaven,
  "Rejoice! I have found My sheep!"
And the angels echoed
    around the throne,
"Rejoice, for the Lord
    brings back His own!"