Pechadur wyf erioed

  Pechadur wyf erio'd
    O halogedig ryw;
  Gwrth'nebwr fynnai fod
    Yn erbyn gras fy Nuw:
O maddeu'n rhad fy meiau 'nawr,
Ar gyfrif gwa'd
      f'Anwylyd gwiw.

  Mae rhwystrau o fy mla'n
    I'r etifeddiaeth rad;
  Mae dyfroedd mawr a thân
    Oddiyma i dŷ fy Nhad: 
O Arglwydd, gwel fi'n llesg a gwan,
A dwg fi'r lan i'r nefol wlad. 

  Fe ŵyr, f'Anwylyd cu,
    Fod llu o elynion im';
  Y rhai yn gyfrwys sy,
    A chedyrn iawn o rym:
Rho ras i mi anturio'n hŷ
Trwy ganol llu
     'ngelynion llym.

            - - - - -

  Pechadur wyf erioed
    O halogedig ryw;
  Pechadur fynai fod
    Yn erbyn gras fy Nuw:
O maddeu'n rhad fy meiau 'nawr,
Ar gyfrif gwaed yr Iesu mawr.

  Troseddwr wyf, O Dduw,
    Da iawn y gwyddost hyn:
  Annheilwng iawn i fyw
    Tu yma i uffern lyn;
O dan ei faich mae f'enaid gwan,
Estyn dy fraich a dwg fi i'r lan.

  Rhif fy mhechodau sydd
    Fel y mân wlith brydnawn;
  A rhei'ny oll bob dydd
    O liwiau duon iawn;
Ond afon lifodd ar y bryn
A all fy ngolchi oll yn wyn.

  I sinner I have ever been
    Of a defiled sort;
  A rebel I insist on being
    Against my God's grace:
O forgive freely my sins now,
On account of the blood
      of my worthy Beloved.

  There are obstacles before me
    To the free inheritance;
  There are great waters and fire
    From here to my Father's house:
O Lord, see me feeble and weak,
And lead me up to the heavenly land.

  I know, my dear Beloved,
    That I have a host of enemies;
  Those who are crafty,
    And very firm of force:
Give grace for me to venture boldly
Through the middle of a host
     of my sharp enemies.

               - - - - -

  A sinner I have ever been
    Of a defiled sort;
  A sinner I insist on being
    Against my God's grace:
O forgive freely my faults now,
On account of the blood of great Jesus.

  A transgressor I am, O God,
    Very well I know this:
  Very unworthy to live
    This side of the infernal lake;
Under its burden is my weak soul,
Extend thy arm and lead my up.

  The number of my sins is
    Like the fine dew of evening;
  And all those every day
    O very black colours;
But a river streamed on the hill
Which can wash me all white.