Yspryd Sanctaidd tyr'd yn awr

Yspryd Sanctaidd, tyr'd yn awr,
Anfon Dy oleuni 'lawr
  O'th breswylfa nefol wiw.

Tyred, Dad y tlodion rai,
Tyred, Di sy'n trugarhau,
  Tyred, Wawl calonau briw.

Gwir Ddidanydd goreu Crist,
Cyfaill anwyl enaid trist;
  Llawnder angen dynolryw.

'Smwythid yn mhob llafur blin,
Cysgod yn mhob tanllyn hin,
  Meddyg adfyd pawb a glyw.

Penaf Oleu Sßon fryn,
Ymddisgleiria'n bur a gwỳn
  Yn nghalonau'th seintiau byw.

Heb dy ddwyfol nerthol rin
Dim o werth nid oes mewn dyn,
  Aflan ef a du ei liw.

Golch yn wỳn yr hwn sydd ddu,
Tir sychedig mwyda Di;
  AdfywhÃḃ y clwyfus gwyw.

Plỳg y cyndyn i Dy drefn,
Twyma'r oer Ãḃ'th wres drachefn;
  Crwydriaid dychwel at eu Llyw.

I Dy seintiau hardd eu gwedd,
Gredant ynot am Dy hedd
  Dod dy ddoniau seithblyg ryw.

Dyro'r gamp haeddasant hwy,
Dyro noddfa iddynt mwy,
  A llawenydd bythol Duw.

o'r Lladin
Veni Sancte Spiritus

priodolwyd i
Innocent III 1160-1216

[Mesur: 777]

Holy Spirit, come now,
Send Thy light down
  From thy worthy heavenly residence.

Come, Father of the poor ones,
Come, Thou who art showing mercy,
  Come, Light of bruised hearts.

True, best Comforter of Christ,
Beloved friend of a sad soul;
  Fulfilment of the need of humankind.

Ease in every wearying labour,
Shade in every fiery climate,
  Physician of adversity of all who hear.

Chief Light of Zion hill,
Shining pure and white
  In the hearts of thy living saints.

Without thy divine, strong virtue
Nothing of worth is there in man,
  Unclean he and black his colour.

Wash white him who is black,
Thirsty land moisten Thou;
  Revive the withered, sick one.

Bend the stubborn to Thy plan,
Warm the cold with thy heat again;
  Return wanderers to their Helm.

To Thy saints of beautiful condition,
They believe in thee for Thy peace
  May thy gifts of a sevenfold kind come.

Give the success they deserve,
Give refuge to them henceforth,
  And the joy of an everlasting God.

Holy Spirit, Lord of light,
From Thy clear celestial height
  Thy pure beaming radiance give.

Come, Thou Father of the poor,
Come with treasures which endure,
  Come, Thou Light of all that live.

Thou, of all consolers best,
Thou, the soul's delightsome Guest,
  Dost refreshing peace bestow.

Thou in toil art comfort sweet,
Pleasant coolness in the heat,
  Solace in the midst of woe.

Light immortal, Light divine,
Visit Thou these hearts of Thine,
  And our inmost being fill.

If Thou take Thy grace away,
Nothing pure in man will stay;
  All his good is turned to ill.

Heal our wounds; our strength renew;
On our dryness pour Thy dew;
  Wash the stains of guilt away.

Bend the stubborn heart and will;
Melt the frozen, warm the chill;
  Guide the steps that go astray.

Thou, on those who evermore
Thee confess and Thee adore,
  In Thy sevenfold gifts descend:

Give them comfort when they die,
Give them life with Thee on high;
  Give them joys that never end.

from the Latin
Veni Sancte Spiritus

attributed to
Innocent III 1160-1216

Tune [777]: St Philip (William H Monk 1823-89)