Anweledig rwy'n dy garu 8,7,8,7,8,7,8,7 Though unseen, O Lord, I love Thee, Wondrous is thy saving might, Thus to wean my soul so sweetly From its sinful chief delight: More Thou didst in one short instant Than a world could e'er have done, Winning Thee a happy dwelling In this sterile heart of stone. |