Ffyddlon gyfaill pechaduriaid

Ffyddlon gyfaill pechaduriaid,
  Tro dy wyneb yma, clyw
Fi bechadur mawr yn griddfan
  Am drugaredd rad fy Nuw:
    Gwaed dy galon,
  Sy' arnaf eisiau bob yr awr.

Mae'r gwahangwlyf ffiaidd pechod,
  Gwedi cerdded tryddi'n llwyr;
Claf yw f'enaid tan ei glwyfau,
  O'r boreu-ddydd hyd yr hwyr:
    Balm o Gilead,
  Rydd i'm henaid wir iachad.

Un o'r meibion cyndyn ydwyf,
  Rhyfedd yw fy mod yn fyw;
Gwrthryfelais hyd y gellais
  Dim yn erbyn gras fy Nuw;
    Arglwydd maddeu,
  Fy mhechodau mawr yn rhad.

'R un erioed yw dy drugaredd,
  Er it' faddeu rhif
      y gwlith,
O bechodau duon ffiaidd,
  Nid oes diwedd iddi byth.
    Gwaed y cymmod,
  Sy' ddigonol i'm glanhau.

Afon redodd tan dy galon,
  Lifeiriol fawr o ddw'r a gwa'd;
Ynddi golchwyd pechaduriaid
  Mwyaf welwyd oll yn rhad;
    Fel y lili,
  Gwedi cannu yn dy wa'd.

Dyma'r ffynnon fawr agorwyd
 I dŷ Dafydd oll yn rhad,
Sydd yn golchi ffiaidd feiau
  Yr oll etholedig had:
    Rho i minneu,
  Ynddi gael fy llwyr lanhau.

Llu o bechaduriaid aflan
  Olchwyd ynddi cyn fy mod,
Pur rinweddol fyth yn para
  Fel y funyd gynta' erio'd:
    Deuwch y cleifion,
  Oll i'r ffynnon gael iachad.
Morgan Rhys 1716-79
Golwg o Ben Nebo, 1764.

Mesur [87874(4)7]

gwelir: Afon redodd tan dy galon

Faithful friend of sinners,
  Turn thy face here, hear
Me, a great sinner, groaning
  For the free mercy of my God:
    The blood of thy heart,
  Is what I have need of every hour.

The terrible leprosy of sin,
  After walking through it completely;
Sick is my soul under its wounds,
  From morning until evening:
    Balm of Gilead,
  Impart to my soul true health.

One of the obstinate sons am I,
  It is amazing that I am alive;
I rebelled until I lost
  Everything against the grace of my God;
    God forgive
  My great sins freely.

The same always is thy mercy,
  Though it forgive as many times
      as there are dewdrops,
Of terrible black sins,
  There is never any end to it.
    The blood of the covenant,
  Is sufficient to cleanse me.

A river ran under thy heart,
  Streaming, great, of water and blood;
In it are washed sinners
  The greatest seen, all freely;
    Like the lily,
  After bleaching in thy blood.

Here the great fountain is opened
  For the house of David all freely,
Which washes the terrible sins
  Of all the chosen seed:
    Grant me,
  In it to get completely cleansed.

A host of dirty sinners
  Washed in it until I am,
Pure, virtuous forever remaining
  Like the first minute ever:
    Come ye sick,
  All to the fount to get healing.
tr. 2013 Richard B Gillion

The middle column is a literal translation of the Welsh. A Welsh translation is identified by the abbreviation 'cyf.' (emulation by 'efel.'), an English translation by 'tr.'

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