Cwyd yr haul yn danbaid iawn

Cwyd yr haul yn danbaid iawn
  Ar ein daear ni;
Ond daw hir gysgodau'r nawn,
  A daw'r noson ddu;
Draw ymhell gwlad hyfryd sydd,
Lle mae byth yn ganol dydd.

Blodau glân y gwanwyn mwyn,
  Huliant fryn a dôl,
Ond daw hydref dig i'w dwyn
  Adref yn ei gôl,
Y mae gwlad tu hwnt i'r sêr,
Lle ni wywa'r blodau pêr.

Pyncio'n beraidd drwy yr ha'
  Mae yr adar mân;
Ond y gaeaf blin a'i bla
  Dawa nodau'r gân;
Draw yng ngwlad yr Engyl claer
Ni ddistawa'r delyn aur.

Agos ydyw'r Ceidwad mawr
  Atom ym mhob man,
Ond ni welwn ef yn awr
  Â'n golygon gwan;
Y mae gwlad tu hwnt i'r bedd,
Lle cawn weled byth ei wedd.

Pwy gaiff fynd i'r hyfryd wlad?
  Pawb o'r plantos mân
Sydd yn caru Duw eu Tad,
  A chânt wisgoedd glân;
Yn y wlad tu hwnt i'r lli
Mae ein cartref dedwydd ni.

The sun rises very fiery
  Upon our earth;
But long shadows of the evening come,
  And the black night comes;
Yonder afar is the delightful land,
Where it is forever midday.

Handsome flowers of the gentle spring,
  Adorn hill and meadow,
But angry autumn comes to take them
  Home in its bosom,
There is a land beyond the stars,
Where sweet flowers do not wither.

Sweetly warbling through the summer
  Are the small birds;
But the grievous winter and its blast
  Silence the notes of the song;
Yonder in the land of the bright angels
The golden harp shall not fall silent.

Near is the great Saviour
  To us in every place,
But we do not see him now
  With our weak views;
There is a land beyond the grave,
Where we may see forever his countenance.

Who shall get to go to the delightful land?
  All of the little children
Who love God their Father,
  And they may get clean garments;
In the land beyond the floodtide
Is our happy home.

Every morning the red sun
  Rises warm and bright;
But the evening cometh on,
  And the dark, cold night.
There's a bright land far away,
Where 'tis never-ending day.

Every spring the sweet young flowers
  Open bright and gay,
Till the chilly autumn hours
  Wither them away.
There's a land we have not seen,
Where the trees are always green.

Little birds sing songs of praise
  All the summer long,
But in colder, shorter days
  They forget their song.
There's a place where angels sing
Ceaseless praises to their King.

Christ our Lord is ever near
  Those who follow Him;
But we cannot see Him here,
  For our eyes are dim;
There is a most happy place,
Where men always see His face.

Who shall go to that bright land?
  All who do the right:
Holy children there shall stand
  In their robes of white;
For that Heav'n, so bright and blest,
Is our everlasting rest.