Dyrchafwn yn llawen mewn ysbryd diolchgar

Dyrchafwn yn llawen,
    mewn ysbryd diolchgar,
  Ein hanthem o foliant
      i gofio dy saint;
Eu tristwch tra rhodient
    trwy lyn cysgod angau
  Sydd heddiw'n orfoledd -
      mawrygwn eu braint.

Eu gwysio a gawsant,
 yn dorf o bob oedran,
  O gafell yr Eglwys
      ddaearol a'i gwaith;
A'r Iesu'n ei gariad,
    o'r bedydd i'r allor,
  A'u gwisgodd â nerth
      i wynebu eu taith.

Byth-sanctaidd yw'r mur
    a fu'n atsain eu moliant,
  A'r ddaear a sangent,
      anwyled in yw!
Addefent nad oeddynt
    ond llesg bererinion,
  A'u cyrchnod gwastadol
      oedd dinas eu Duw.

Gorfoledd yw coffa
    ffyddloniaid yr Iesu,
  Y daith a'i pheryglon
      ddirwynwyd i ben;
Hoff blant y goleuni -
    eu haul mwy ni fachlud -
  Heb gwmwl na galar
      tu arall i'r llen!

Let us raise up joyfully,
    in a thankful spirit,
  Our anthem of praise
      to remember thy saints;
Their sadness while they walked through
    the valley of the shadow of death
  Who are today rejoicing -
      let us magnify their privilege.

They got their summons,
    as a throng of every age,
  From the sanctuary of the earthly
      Church and her work;
And Jesus loving them,
    from the baptism to the altar,
  Clothed them with strength
      to face their journey.

Ever-sacred is the wall
    that echoed their praise,
  And the earth they trod,
      how dear to us it is!
They would confess that they were
    only feeble pilgrims,
  And their constant goal
      was the city of God.

Jubilation it is to remember
    the faithful ones or Jesus,
  The journey and its perils
      were wound up to an end;
The fond children of the light -
    their sun never more shall set -
  Without a cloud or lamenting
      on the other side of the curtain!

In our day of thanksgiving
    one psalm let us offer
  For the saints who before us
      have found their reward;
When the shadow of death
    fell upon them, we sorrowed,
  But now we rejoice that
      they rest in the Lord.

In the morning of life,
    and at noon, and at even,
  He called them away
      from our worship below;
But not till His love,
    at the font and the altar,
  Had girt them with grace
      for the way they should go.

These stones that have echoed
    their praises are holy,
  And dear is the ground
      where their feet have once trod;
Yet here they confessed
    they were strangers and pilgrims,
  And still they were seeking
      the city of God.

Sing praise, then, for all
    who here sought and here found Him,
  Whose journey is ended,
      whose perils are past;
They believed in the Light;
    and its glory is round them,
  Where the clouds of earth's sorrows
      are lifted at last.