Mae'r iachawdwriaeth/iechydwriaeth rad

Mae'r iachawdwriaeth rād
  Yn ddigon i bob rhai;
Agorwyd ffynnon er glanhad
  Pob pechod cas a bai.

Daw tyrfa rif y gwlith
  Yn iach trwy rin y gwaed:
Pwy wyr na byddaf yn eu plith,
  Yn lān o'm pen i'm traed?

Er lleted yw fy mhla,
  Er dyfned yw fy mriw,
Y balm o Gilead a'm iachā -
  Mae Grist yn Feddyg gwiw.

Dan bwys euogrwydd du,
  Edrychaf tua'r Groes,
Lle llifodd gwaed fy Mhriod cu:
  Anfeidrol Iawn a roes.

The free salvation is
  Sufficient for everyone;
A fountain was opened for the cleansing
  Of every hateful sin and fault.

Multitudes as numerous as the dew shall come
  Safely through the merit of the blood:
Who knows that I will not be among them,
  Clean from my head to my feet?

Though so widespread is my plague,
  Though so deep is my wound,
The balm of Gilead will heal me -
  Christ is the worthy physician.

Under the weight of black guilt,
  I look to the Cross,
Where streamed my dear Redeemer's blood:
  An immeasurable Satisfaction he has given.