Torf o'mrodyr sydd yn gorwedd 8,7,8,7,4,7 Many dear ones are departed To the grave's dark silent land: I shall soon receive the summons There to lie amid the band; Where they hear not Any more sad earth's complaints. Blest are they who have expired In the Lord, supremely blest! In the port so oft desired They for ever safely rest. How much better, There to sing than sigh with us! |