Pwy yw'r blin Bererin acw?

Pwy yw'r blin Bererin acw
  Welaf yn ymdynnu'n brudd,
Trwy'r anialwch tua'i artref,
  Yn bistyllog wlyb ei rudd?
Mae ei wisg i gyd yn garpiog,
  Y mae newyn yn ei wedd;
Gwelaf nad oes yn trigfannu
  Yn ei fron dufewnol hedd.

Clywch e'n llefain wrtho'i hunan,
  "Dad, nid teilwng mwy wyf fi
'Fod yn fab, ond gwas a fyddaf,
  Os caf fod, o fewn dy dŷ!"
Beth yw'r hyfryd sain nefolaidd,
  Glywaf fry yn entrych nen,
Gan fil miloedd o delynau,
  Yn cyd-seinio uwch fy mhen?

Beth yw'r adlais hyn a glywaf
  Ar beiriannau aur y nef?
"Teithia 'mlaen, Bererin egwan,
  Groeso, groeso tua thref, -
Mae trigolion gwlad goleuni
  Wrth dy wel'd yn llawenhau, -
Y mae gwisg yn barod iti, -
  Daw dy Dad
      i'th gwrdd yn glau.

Dos ymlaen, Bererin egwan,
  Trwy'r diffeithwch dos ymla'n;
Er mor athrist yw dy olwg,
  Try dy alar etto'n gân:
Llygaid Nef sydd ar dy gamrau,
  Teithia 'mlaen, Bererín gwan;
Ronyn etto ffrydiwch, ddagrau,
  Chwi a sychir yn y man."

Pwy a wela'i'n dod â gwisgoedd
  Hardded â goleuni'r wawr, -
Yn cusanu'r crwydryn eiddil, -
  Ar ei wddf yn syrthio i lawr?
Uwch, ac uwch yn awr dyrchafa
  Tannau'r Nef
      eu sain ynghŷd; -
O! a ydyw'th werth di gymmaint,
  F'enaid bach, a wyt mor ddrud!

Bydd llawenydd yn y nefoedd,
  Os o'th lwybrau ffol y ffoi;
Mae, bechadur, iti roeso,
  Os at dŷ dy Dad y doi;
Gâd y cibau a'r gorwagedd,
  Gâd y byd
      a'i ffalsedd ffol,
Cofia lewndid ac ymgeledd
  Tŷ dy Dad, a dere 'nol.

gwelir: Dos ymlaen Bererin egwan

Who is the weary Pilgrim yonder
  I see drawing sadly,
Through the desert towards his home,
  Gushing wet his cheek?
His clothing is all in tatters,
  There is hunger in his countenance;
I see that there is no inner peace
  Dwelling in his breast.

Hear him crying to himself,
  "Father, I am no longer worthy
To be a son, but a servant I will be,
  If I get to be, within thy house!"
What is the delightful, heavenly sound
  I hear up in the vault of the sky,
Of a thousand thousands of harps,
  Sounding together above my head?

What is this echo I hear
  On the golden engines of heaven?
"Journey onward, weak Pilgrim,
  Welcome, welcome towards home, -
The inhabitants of the land of light
  On seeing thee rejoicing, -
There is clothing ready for thee, -
  Thy Father will come
      to meet thee swiftly.

Come onward, weak Pilgrim,
  Through the wilderness come onward;
Despite how sad is thy view,
  Thy mourning will turn again to song:
The eye of Heaven is on thy steps,
  Journey onward, weak Pilgrim;
Stream ye yet a little, tears,
  Ye are to be dried in a while."

Whom do I see coming with garments
  As beautiful as the light of the dawn, -
Kissing the feeble wanderer, -
  On his neck falling down?
Higher, higher now raise
  The chords of Heaven
      their sound together; -
O, is thy worth so much,
  My little soul, art thou so precious!

There will be rejoicing in the heavens,
  If from thy foolish paths thou flee;
There is, sinner, for thee a welcome,
  If to thy Father's house thou comest;
Leave the husks and the futility,
  Leave the world
      and its foolish falsehood,
Remember the abundance and the succour
  Of thy Father's house, and come back.

Who is yonder weary pilgrim
  From the desert now appears,
Coming home with cheerless footsteps,
  And his cheek bedewed with tears?
Worn and tattered is his garment,
  There is famine in his face:
Peace has made a vain endeavour
  In his heart to find a place.

Hear him to himself bemoaning -
  "Father! in Thy house make me
But a servant! -me, unworthy
  Any more Thy son to be!"
What is this - this strain celestial
  Now I hear above the sky?
Harps ten thousand times ten thousand
  In sweet harmony on high?

Oh! the softly flowing echo
  From the instruments of gold:
"Journey on, thou weary pilgrim,
  Welcome home from deserts cold!
The inhabitants of Light-land
  Now with joy thy spirit greet:
See, the robe is ready for thee -
  Soon shalt thou
      the Father meet."

"Journey on, thou weary pilgrim,
  Through the desert journey on;
Though thy face is marked with sorrow,
  Song for weeping cometh soon:
Heaven's eyes watch every footstep,
  Haste thee on, O sorely tried!
Flow, ye tears, a little longer,
  Till at home ye shall be dried."

Who is He that brings the garment
  Beautiful as light of dawn?
Kisses him, the weary lost one,
  To His bosom closely drawn?
Loud and louder swells the music
  Of each glowing
      golden string:
Little soul, art thou so precious
  In the palace of the King?

Yes, there will be joy in heaven,
  If from evil ways thou flee
There is always, always welcome
  In the Father's house for thee:
Leave the husks and vanished shadows,
  And a world of
      falsehood spurn:
Thine the fulness and affection,
  Thine the home: return! return!