Awn bechaduriaid at y dŵr

Awn, bechaduriaid, at y dwr
  A darddodd ar y bryn;
Ac ni gawn yfed byth heb drai
  O'r afon loyw hyn.

Mae'r Iechydwriaeth fel y môr
  Yn chwyddo byth i'r lan;
Mae ynddi ddigon,
    digon byth,
  I'r truan ac i'r gwan.

Mae yma drugareddau rhad
  I'r tlawd a'r llariaidd rai,
A rhyw fendithion maith yn stôr,
  Sy fythol yn parhau.

'Does yma eisiau fyth yn bod,
  Trysorau gras yn llawn,
Er maint yr yfed
    a'r glanhau
  Sy o fore hyd brynhawn.

Nis blinwn ganu
    tra fom byw
  Yr oruchafiaeth hyn,
Weithiodd ein Harglwydd un prynhawn
  Ar ben Calfaria fryn.

Fe welir myrdd 'mhen gronyn bach,
  O'r dwyrain ac o'r de,
Yn cydatseinio'n hyfryd am
  Ei ryfedd gariad E'.

gwelir:
  Mae'r iachawdwriaeth fel y môr

Let us go, sinners, to the water
  Which springs on the hill;
And we may drink forever without abating
  Of that bright river.

The salvation is like the sea,
  Surging forever towards the shore;
There is sufficient in it,
    sufficient forever,
  For the wretched and the weak.

There are here free mercies
  For the poor and those who are meek,
And some great blessings in store,
  Which endure forever.

There is here never any lack,
  Plentiful treasures of grace,
Despite the extent of the
    drinking and the cleansing
  There is from morning until evening.

We will not tire of singing
    as long as we live
  This conquest,
Our Lord wrought one afternoon
  On the top of Calvary's hill.

A myriad will be seen after a little while,
  From the east and from the south,
Resounding together delightfully about
  His amazing love.