Agorwyd ffyn(n)on i'n glanhau

Agorwyd ffynon i'n glanhau
  Gan Iesu, Brenin nef;
A'i ffrydiau olcha ffwrdd ein bai,
  Trwy rym ei gariad ef.

Llawenydd sydd i lawer un
  Oherwydd agor hon,
Mae lle i minau lawenhau
  Bod i mi roesaw llon.

Bu dda i'r lleidr ar y groes
  Ei chaffael yn ei ddydd;
Maddeuwyd holl bechodau'i oes,
  A'i enaid aeth yn rhydd.

O farwol oen, dy ruddwaed drud
  Ni chyll ei rinwedd byth;
Ond cyfyd holl dylwythau'r byd
  I'r gwynfyd pur dilyth.

Mae llais y nef yn galw'n awr,
  Drueiniaid, fawr a mân,
I ddyfod iddi ar y llawr
  I'w golchi oll yn lân.

Yr wyf yn dyfod, Arglwydd Dduw,
  I 'mofyn am y Gwaed;
O golch yn lân y dua'i liw
  Sy'n disgwyl wrth dy draed.

Na âd i unrhyw bechod cas
  Deyrnasu arnaf mwy;
O dyro rym dy nefol ras,
  Nes imi ddyfod trwy.

Mi ganaf fi tra byddwyf byw
  Am rinwedd gwaed yr Oen;
Ond mi gaf ganu cyn bo hir
  Mewn rhyw felusach dôn.

Ei ddwyfol rinwedd fydd fy nghân
  Ar diroedd gwlad yr hedd,
Pan fyddo'r bloesgaidd dafod hwn
  Dan glo y distaw fedd.

Mor beraidd odiaeth fydd fy nghân
  Mewn anllygredig wedd;
Pan fyddo'r tafod musgrell hwn
  Yn ddystaw yn y bedd.

'Rwy'n credu caf fi delyn aur,
  Anheilwng er fy mod,
Ddarparodd Iesu er fy mwyn
  I seinio'n gu ei glod.

Heb raid cyweirio'i thanau pêr,
  E bery'r delyn hon;
I fythol seinio mawl i'm pê,
  Yn mhlith y dyrfa lon.

I'r Tad a'r Mab a'r Ysbryd Glân
  Rhown fawl ar gân i gyd;
Sain Alelwia fo 'mhob man,
  Trwy bedwar ban y byd.

Cyweiriwyd hi ar beraidd dôn
  Dros oesoedd rif y gwlith;
Caf daro'r tannau yn ddiboen,
  I Dduw a'r Oen dros byth.

gwelir:
  Mae ffyn(n)on hyfryd lawn o waed
  Mae ffynnon lân fy enaid cred
  Mi welaf ffynnon lawn o waed

A fountain was opened to cleanse us
  By Jesus, The King of heaven;
And its streams wash away our fault,
  Through the force of his love.

There is joy to many a one
  Because this is open,
There is a place for me to rejoice
  That there is a cheerful welcome for me.

It was good for the thief on the cross
  To have it in his day;
Forgiven were all the sins of his lifetime,
  And his soul went free.

O mortal lamb, thy costly red blood
  Shall never lose its virtue;
But shall raise all the tribes of the world
  To the pure, unfailing paradise.

The voice of heaven is calling now,
  Wretches, great and small,
To come to it on the earth
  To wash them all clean.

I am coming, Lord God,
  To ask for the Blood;
Oh wash clean the blackest in colour
  who is waiting at thy feet.

Do not let any hateful sin
  Rule over me any more;
Oh give the force of thy heavenly grace,
  Until I come through.

I will sing as long as I live
  About the virtue of the blood of the Lamb;
But I may sing before long
  In some sweeter tune.

His divine merit shall be my song
   On lands of the country of peace,
 When this stammering tongue shall be
   Under the lock of the quiet grave.

How exquisitely sweet will be my song
  In an incorruptible condition;
When this decrepit tongue
  Is quiet in the grave.

I believe I shall have a golden harp,
  Unworthy though I be,
Jesus has prepared for my sake
  Dearly to sound his acclaim.

Without need to tune its sweet strings,
  This harp shall continue
Forever to cause me to sound praise,
  Amongst the cheerful throng.

To the Father and the Son and Holy Spirit
  Let us all render praise in song;
Let the sound of Alleluia be everywhere,
  Through the four corners of the world.

It was tuned on a sweet melody
  For ages numerous as the dew;
I may strike the strings painlessly,
  To God and the Lamb for ever.

There is a fountain filled with blood
  Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
  Lose all their guilty stains.






The dying thief rejoiced to see
  That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
  Wash all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
  Shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God
  Be saved, to sin no more.
















E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
  Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
  And shall be till I die.


Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

  I'll sing Thy power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

  Lies silent in the grave.


Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,
  Unworthy though I be,
For me a blood bought free reward,
  A golden harp for me!





'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,

  And formed by power divine,

To sound in God the Father's ears

  No other name but Thine.