Fy phiol yma sydd yn llawn

8,8,8,8

My cup doth often while below,

With Marah's waters overflow:

But care and grief which here annoy,

Above shall be absorbed in joy.

The fire of love within the breast

Is here but fond desire at best:

The faintest spark in heaven it knows

With an immortal ardour glows.

The joy for which I here can hope

Is but the small tormenting drop:

A fathomless, eternal sea

Of bliss shall there encompass me.

A distant clouded glimpse is all

That Faith on earth may vision call:

But unto Faith and Hope in heaven

Are prospect and possession given.

Crumbs are on earth our richest fare:

But banquets wait the pilgrim there.

Here cold and faint the songs we raise:

But deathless there will be our praise.

Here evening shades envelope me;

All darkness shall from Zion flee;

Without a veil it will be given

God face to face to see in Heaven.