Pechod ein llwyr wenwyno wnaeth

Pechod ein llwyr wenwyno wnaeth,
  Trwy'n gwaed yr aeth ei lwgwr:
Yr unig falm yw rhad ras Duw,
  A'r Iesu yw'r Physygwr.

Fe ddarfu'n nerth a'n tegwch ni,
  Nesau 'ry'm i farwolaeth;
Ond Crist y meirw mae'n fywhau
  A gair ei enau eilwaith.

Wrth nattur gwallgof ynom sy',
  A'n gwyniau'n berwi trwom,
Ne's del Mab Duw
    ā'i Yspryd Glān
  I ddofi'r tān sydd ynom.

Lleibio y llwch ac yfed gwynt
  Yw'n helynt fel ynfydion;
A gwrthod pob daioni gwiw,
  Ne's gwnelo Duw ni'n ddoethion.

Clwyfo'n heneidiau'r y'm fel hyn,
  A'r gwenwyn y'm yn yfed;
A rhuthro i Uffern ar ein pen,
  Ond Duw o'r nen sy'n gwared.

Y dyn ymhlith y beddau ga'w'd
  A dorrei'i gnawd heb bwyllo;
Ynfydu'r oedd, ond Crist pan ddaeth,
  Y Diafol aeth o hono.

Sin completely poisoned us,
  Through our blood its corruption went:
The only balm is the free grace of God,
  And Jesus is the Physician.

Our strength and our fairness perished,
  We are approaching death;
But Christ is enlivening the dead
  With the word of his mouth again.

By a foolish nature that is in us,
  Our passions boil throughout us,
Until the Son of God
    brings his Holy Spirit
  To tame the fire that is in us.

Gulping the dust and drinking wind
  Is our course as mad people;
And refusing all worthy goodness,
  Until God makes us wise.

Wounding our souls we are thus,
  With the poison we are drinking;
And rushing to Hell on our own,
  But God from heaven is delivering.

The man among the graves is got
  Who would cut his flesh without caring;
Going mad he was, but when Christ came,
  The Devil went out from him.

Sin, like a venomous disease,
  Infects our vital blood;
The only balm is sovereign grace,
  And the physician, God.

Our beauty and our strength are fled,
  And we draw near to death;
But Christ the Lord recalls the dead
  With his almighty breath.

Madness by nature reigns within,
  The passions burn and rage,
Till God's own Son,
    with skill divine,
  The inward fire assuage.

We lick the dust, we grasp the wind,
  And solid good despise;
Such is the folly of the mind,
  Till Jesus makes us wise.

We give our souls the wounds they feel,
  We drink the pois'nous gall,
And rush with fury down to hell;
  But Heav'n prevents the fall.

The man possessed among the tombs
  Cuts his own flesh, and cries;
He foams and raves, till Jesus comes,
  And the foul spirit flies.