O clyw fy ngwaedd, a gwêl fy ngwedd

8,8,8,8

Lord, hear my cry and see my case,

As hart for streams I pant for grace:

Come, O my God, bear me above,

To bathe my wounds in thy blest love.

Are there not myriads now in bliss,

Whose cry on earth was often this?

Here in the dust how deep their groans,

But now they sit on glorious thrones.

When shall I that glad hour behold,

When sin shall quit its deadly hold;

When I my Christ unveiled shall see,

And pass through all my misery!

O that I could from sinning cease,

And wait on Pisgah my release,

Until I saw the dawn of day,

And Jesus called his child away!

If Thou wilt not complete me now,

Before my head in death I bow,

In dreary Kedar walk with me;

My life would languish losing Thee.