Ymleda teyrnas gras

Ymleda teyrnas gras
  Trwy'r ddaear las
      fwy fwy,
Pob gwynt a thòn sy'n gyru hon
  At fyrdd ga'dd farwol glwy'.

Uwch, uwch o hyd yw sain
  Yr udgorn arian pur,
Y delwau tlawd a'r llyfrau gau
  Bob dydd sy'n colli tir.

Yn mlaen mae'r sain yn myn'd,
  Y meirw'n clywed sydd,
A'r deillion, druain, 'nawr sy'n gwel'd
  Goleuni nefol ddydd.

Allorau duwiau gau
  A'n ddrylliau mân i gyd,
A chrefydd bur ar fyr a dd'wed
  Mai' heiddo hi yw'r byd.

The kingdom of grace will expand
  Through the blue-green earth
      more and more,
Every wind and wave are driving this
  To a myriad who got a mortal disease.

Higher, higher still is the sound
  Of the pure silver trumpet,
The poor images and the false books
  Every day which are loosing ground.

Ahead the sound is going,
  The dead are hearing it,
And the blind, wretched, are now seeing
  The light of heavenly day.

The altars of false gods
  Go all to smithereens,
And pure religion shortly will say
  That her possession is the world.