Penliniaf ar y trothwy

Penliniaf ar y trothwy
  Yn glwyfus, blin, a gwyw,
Gan ddisgwyl am y wawrddydd
  Pan egyr drws fy Nuw;
Rwy'n aros nes yr enfyn
  Orchymyn imi ddod
I'w ddisglaer bresenoldeb -
  Y le dedwydda'n bod.






Blinderog lwybrau deithiais
  Trwy nôs dymhestlog, ddu,
Mewn ymdrech am fy mywyd
  Dan lethol feichiau lu;
Ond wele'r bore'n gwawrio,
  Gorphwysfa'n agos sy, -
Penliniaf ar y trothwy
  A'm llaw ar ddrws y Tŷ.

Dychmygaf glywed lleisiau,
  A melus dôn y llu,
Sy'n can'n awr yn heulwen
  Y wlad ddigwmwl fry;
O na bawn yno hefyd
  Ymhlith y dyrfa lân,
Yn uno'n eu haddoliad,
  Yn llawenhau'n eu cân!

Fy holl gyfoedion aethant
  I mewn er's amser maith;
O un i un gadawsant
  Fi'n unig ar fy nhaith;
Eu hymdaith hwy oedd ffyrrach,
  Eu congcwest ddaeth yn gynt;
Mor siriol y'm croesawant
  Pan ddaw i ben fy hynt!

I kneel on the threshold,
  Wounded, weary, and faint,
Waiting for the break of day
  When my God's door shall open;
I am waiting until he sends
  A command for me to come
To his radiant presence -
  The happiest place there is.






Grievous paths I trod
  Through a black, tempestuous night,
In a struggle for my life
  Under a host of oppressive burdens;
But behold the morning dawning,
  A resting place is near, -
I kneel on the threshold
  With my hand on the door of the House.

I imagine that voices are heard,
  And the sweet tune of a throng,
Who are singing now in the sunshine
  Of the cloudless land above;
O that I might be there also
  Amongst the holy crowd,
Uniting in their worship,
  Rejoicing in their song!

All my contemporaries went
  In a long time ago;
One by one they left
  Me alone on my journey;
Their march was shorter,
  Their conquest came earlier;
How happily they will greet me
  When the end of my course comes!

I'm kneeling at the threshold,
  So weary faint and sore;
Waiting for the dawning,
  The opening of the door;
I'm waiting 'till the Master
  Shall bid me rise and come
To his all glorious presence,
  The gladness of his home.

    Kneeling at the threshold,
      Weary faint and sore;
    Kneeling at the threshold,
      My hand is on the door.

A weary path I've travelled,
  'Mid darkness storm and strife;
Bearing many a burden,
 And struggling for my life;
But now the morn is breaking,
  My toil will soon be o'er;
I'm kneeling at the threshold,
  My hand is on the door.

Methinks I hear the voices,
  Of loved ones as they stand,
Singing in the sunshine,
  In that far, sinless land,
Oh, would that I were with them,
  Amid their shining throng,
And mingling in their worship,
  And joining in their song!

With them the blessed angels,
  That know no grief or sin;
See them by the portals,
  Prepared to let me in!
O Lord, I wait thy pleasure,
  Thy time and way are best;
But I'm all worn and weary.
  O Father, bid me rest!