Mi dreuliaf weddill dyddiau f' oes

8,6,8,6

I'll spend my few remaining days,

While here ordained to roam,

As exiles do in distant lands,

I'll think of nought but home.

Wistful upon the strand I gaze

Toward heaven, my country's shore,

Expecting hence ere long to sail,

And sin and weep no more.

When I depart for other worlds,

What friend will cleave to me?

None, none, how well soe'er beloved --

Dear Jesus, none but Thee.