Os oes rhyw ddadl hyfryd

i

If there be holy contest

Who ought to sing the loudest

On plains of heaven;

Who most to Christ indebted,

Who loftiest exalted,

Being most forgiven:

A plea there will appear for me;

For of the many,

Whom sovereign Mercy,

With arm almighty,

May raise that state to see,

No one more undeserving

Of joy so great can be.

One song shall echo through the throng:

"To Him who loved us:

To Him who washed us:

To Him who saved us,

From deep and miry clay!"

The thrilling anthem doubling,

Unending, night and day.