Oes modd i mi bechadur gwael?

And can it be that I should gain?

Oes modd i mi, bechadur gwael,
Gael rhan yng ngwaed
    fy Mhrynwr hael?
  Ai drosof fi dioddefodd loes,
  Pan fu Ef farw ar y groes?
Rhyfeddol gariad Tri yn Un
Oedd agor dôr
    i gadw dyn.

Pwy all amgyffred cariad Duw -
Rhoi'i Fab er mwyn i
    ddyn gael byw?
  Ni all y seraff
      penaf sy
  Byth ddirnad dyfnder cariad cu.
Rhyfedd yw haeddiant Calfari:
Cyrhaeddodd hwn fy enaid i.

Gadawodd orsedd fawr ei Dad;
Mor rhydd, mor fawr ei gariad rhad!
  Fe'i rhoes ei Hyn yn aberth drud
  Dros hil syrthiedig Adda i gyd:
Trugaredd oll - trugaredd rad!
Caiff myrdd eu bywyd
    yn ei waed.
cyf. Hymnau (Wesleyaidd) 1844

Tonau [88.88.88]:
Bremen (<1876)
  Cornelyn (Harold Ll Roberts)
Folkingham (Supplement to the New Version, 1709,
    N Tate & N Brady)

Is there a way for me, a base sinner,
To gain a part in
    the blood of my generous Redeemer?
  Was is for me he suffered agony,
  When he died on the cross?
The amazing love of the Three in One
Was the opening of the door
    to save humanity.

Who can comprehend the love of God -
Giving his Son in order
    for humanity to get to live?
  The most supreme seraph
      there is cannot
  Ever discern the depth of dear love.
Wonderful is the merit of Calvary:
This has reached my soul.

He left the great throne of his Father;
How liberal, how great, his free love!
  He gave himself as a costly sacrifice
  For all the fallen race of Adam:
All mercy - free mercy!
A myriad may get their life
    in his blood.
tr. 2014 Richard B Gillion
And can it be that I should gain
  An interest in
      the Saviour's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
  For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God,
    shouldst die for me?

'Tis mystery all! The Immortal dies!
  Who can explore
     His strange design?
In vain the firstborn
    seraph tries
  To sound the depths of love Divine!
'Tis mercy all! let earth adore,
Let angel minds inquire no more.

He left His Father’s throne above,
  So free, so infinite His grace;
Emptied Himself of all but love,
  And bled for Adam’s helpless race:
'Tis mercy all, immense and free;
For, O my God,
    it found out me.
Charles Wesley 1707-88

Tunes [88.88.88]:
  Didsbury (Cyril V Taylor 1907-91)
Fillmore (Jeremiah Ingalls 1764-1828/38)
  Lansdown (Alfred Beer 1874-1963)
Sagina (Thomas Campbell 1777-1844)
Surrey (Henry Carey 1687-1743)

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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