Mae rhinwedd yn ei waed

Mae rhinwedd yn ei waed
  I faddeu beiau mwy,
Nag y gall angel fyth na dyn
  Wneyd rhif o honynt hwy.

Mae ffynnon ar y bryn
  A ylch yn wyn a glân,
Bechodau o ryw ffieiddia 'rioed,
  Rhifedi'r tywod mân.

'Does diwedd fyth na thrai
  Ar rinwedd angeu loes;
Uwch pris, a'r gwerthfawroa' gaed,
  Yw haeddiant gwaed y groes.

Fe gàna'r negro du,
  Fe gàna'r Indiad draw;
Fe faddeu i'r aflan oes y sy',
  Fe faddeu i'r oes a ddaw.

gwelir:
  Caed ffynnon ar y bryn
  I'r Iesu boed y clod
  Mae ffynon ar y bryn
  Ti Iesu Frenin nef

There is virtue in his blood
  To forgive sins, more
Than an angel or man ever
  Commit the number of them.

There is a fountain on the hill
  That will wash white and clean,
Sins of the most detestable kind ever,
  Numerous as the fine sand.

There is never any end or ebbing
  To the merit of the throes of death;
Above price, and the most precious had,
  Is the merit of the blood of the cross.

It bleaches the black negro,
  It bleaches the distant Indian;
It forgives the unclean age that is,
  It forgives the age to come.