Wele'r fath gariad rhyfedd rhad

Wele'r fath gariad rhyfedd, rhad,
A roddwyd arnom gan y Tad;
  Ni bechaduriaid, marwol ryw,
  Ein galw wnaed yn blant i Dduw.

Nid yw beth synn ar hyn o bryd,
Os na'n hadweinir gan y byd;
  Ni 'nabu'r byd
      'mo wir Fab Duw,
  Sef Crist ei hun, peth athrist yw.

Ac ni amlygwyd etto'n wir
Mor fawr y cawn ni fod cyn hir;
  Ond pan ddisgyno Crist o'r nef,
  Cawn fod yn debyg iddo ef.

Gwirionedd yw fod pob yr un
S' a'r gobaith hwn yn puro'i hun;
  Oddiwrth bob nwyd a phechod cas,
  Yn bur fel Crist,
      trwy rym ei ras.

Am hyny os caf, O nefol Dad,
Ran fabaidd yn dy gariad rhad;
  I orphwys doed dy Yspryd di
  Fel c'lommen ar fy nghalon i.

Na ad im' mwyach
    fel caeth was,
Nesâu'n ddigręd at orsedd gras;
  Rho ffydd i lefain, Abba, Dad,
  Ac arddel fi fel un o'th had.

See what wonderful, free love,
Is set upon us my the Father;
  We sinners, of a mortal kind,
  Called we are children of God.

It is not a surprising thing by now,
If we are not recognized by the world;
  The world does not recognize
      the true Son of God,
  That is Christ himself, a sad thing it is.

And it is not evident truly
How great we can get to be before long;
  But when Christ descends from heaven,
  We shall get to be like him.

Truth it is that every one
Who has this hope purifies himself;
  From every lust and detestable sin,
  Pure like Christ,
      through the force of his grace.

Therefore if I get, O heavenly Father,
A filial part in thy free love;
  To rest let thy Spirit come
  Like a dove on my heart.

Do not let me any more
    like a captive servant,
Approach unbelieving thy throne of grace;
  Grant faith to cry, Abba, Father,
  And own me as one of thy seed.

Behold what wondrous grace
  The Father has bestowed
On sinners of a mortal race,
  To call them sons of God!

'Tis no surprising thing
  That we should be unknown;
The Jewish world
    knew not their King,
  God's everlasting Son.

Nor doth it yet appear
  How great we must be made;
But when we see our Saviour here,
  We shall be like our Head.

A hope so much divine
  May trials well endure;
May purge our souls
    from sense and sin,
 As Christ the Lord is pure.

If in my Father’s love
  I share a filial part,
Send down Thy Spirit like a dove,
  To rest upon my heart.

We would no longer lie
  Like slaves
      beneath the throne;
My faith shall Abba, Father, cry,
  And thou the kindred own.