O achub cyfod Arglwydd cu

O achub, cyfod, Arglwydd cu,
  Can's darfu y trugarog;
Ffyddlondeb pur ar ball a aeth,
  A gweniaith sydd alluog.





Cyfodi wnaf, medd Duw, o blaid,
  Uchenaid y tylodion;
I'r hwn y magler ef yn gaeth
  Rhof iachawdwriaeth dirion.

Pur iawn yw geiriau'r Arglwydd doeth,
  Fel arian coeth puredig:
A'u cadwo hwy, eu cadw gānt,
  A byddant fendigedig.

O save, arise, dear Lord,
  Since the merciful have vanished;
Pure faithfulness has faded away,
  And flattery is mighty.





I will arise, says God, on the side
  Of the groan of the poor;
To him who is to be ensnared captive
  I will give my tender salvation.

Very pure are the words of the wise Lord,
  Like fine, purified silver:
Those who keep them, they shall get kept,
  And they shall be blessed.

1 Since godly men decay, O Lord,
    do thou my cause defend;
  For scarce these wretched times afford 
    one just and faithful friend.
2 One neighbour now can scarce believe
    what t'other doth impart:
  With flattering lips they all deceive,
    and with a double heart.

5 For God, who hears the suff'ring poor,
    and their oppression knows,
  Will soon arise and give them rest,
    in spite of all their foes.

6 The word of God shall still abide,
    and void of falsehood be,
  As is the silver, sev'n times tried,
    from drossy mixture free.
7 The promise of his aiding grace
    shall reach the purposed end;
  His servants from this faithless race
    he ever shall defend.