O na bai cystuddiau f'Arglwydd

O na bai cystuddiau f'Arglwydd
 Yn fy nghalon yn cael lle,
Pob rhyw loes,
      a phob rhyw ddolur,
 Pob rhyw fflangell gafodd E';
    Fel bo i'm pechod 
  Ildio'r dydd a mynd i maes.

Ti dy Hunan yno'n Frenin,
  Ti dy Hunan yno'n Dduw,
D'eiriau d'Hunan yno'n uchaff
  D'eiriau gwerthfawroca'u rhyw;
    Ti wnei felly 
  Bydew du yn demel lân.

Yna gwna dy drigfan hyfrydd
  Trigfan croeshoeliedig Oen,
Ac na chilia i maes oddi yno
  Tra bo anadl yn fy ffroen,
    Rhag i'm pechod
  Ffiaidd geisio dod yn ôl. 

O! sgrifenna'n eglur, eglur,
  Mewn llythrennau llawn i gyd,
Bob rhyw sillaf bach o'th gyfraith
  Ar fy mynwes yma 'nghyd,
    Nac anghofiwyf
  Fyth dy eiriau mawr eu pris.

Gwaed sgrifennodd ar y croesbren
  Gariad nerthol, dwyfol, rhad;
Ni sgrifennir ar fy nghalon
  Fyth dy eiriau ond â gwaed;
    Dyma'r sgrifen
  Bery'n hwy
        nag 'paro'r byd.

O na ba'i cystuddiau f'Arglwydd,
  Yn fy nghalon i gael lle, 
Pob rhyw loes
      a phob rhyw ddolur,
  Pob rhyw fflangell gafodd ê;
    Fel ba'i mhechod,
  Ildio'r dydd a myn'd i maes.

O na byddai oriau mywyd,
  Yn ymborthi ar oriau'th boen,
Fel y gallwyf fi gyd redeg, 
  A chystuddiau'r addfwyn Oen;
    Fe gai mhechod,
  Felly'n fuan golli'r dydd.

O cyfeiria Di fy llygaid
  I gael gwel'd y cariad llawn
Lifodd allan fel y moroedd
  Ar Galfaria un prydnawn;
    Gwel'd dy glwyfau
  Yw hyfrydwch penaf f'oes.

Ffordd nid oes o waredigaeth,
  Ond agorwyd ar y pren;
Llwybr pechaduriaid euog
  Mewn i byrth y nefoedd wèn:
    Dyma'r brif-ffordd,
  Gwna im' ei rhodio tra b'wyf byw.

Arnat Iesu boed fy meddwl,
  Am dy gariad boed fy nghân,
Dyged sŵn dy ddyoddefiadau,
  Fy serchiadau oll yn lân; 
    Mae dy gariad,
  Uwch y clywodd neb erioed.

Golchi du gydwybod aflan,
  Yn wynnach nag yw'r eira mân;
Gwneud y brwnt gan-waith ddifwynodd
  Yn y domen fel y gwlân:
    Pwy all fesur,
  Led a dyfnder maith dy ras.

Pechod yma, cariad accw,
  Unwaith fu yn y clorian mawr,
Ac er trymed oedd y pechod,
  Gariad bwysodd hyd y llawr:
    Y gair Gorphenwyd,
  Wnaeth i'r clorian pwysfawr droi.

Fe ddyoddefodd angeu creulon,
  Poenus chwerwaf
        angeu'r groes;
Ac fe gonc'rodd luoedd uffern,
  Trwy ei ddwyfol farwol loes;
    'N awr gorphenwyd,
  Iachawdwriaeth ddaeth i mi.

Iesu nid oes terfyn arnat,
  Mae cyflawnder mawr dy ras,
Yn fwy helaeth, yn fwy dwfwn,
  Ganwaith nag yw'mhechod cas;
    Byth yn anwyl,
  Meibion dynion mwy a'th gâr.

gwelir:
  Arnat Iesu boed fy meddwl
  Cariad Crist a phechod Sion
  Dyma Geidwad i'r colledig
  Ffordd nid oes o waredigaeth
  Iesu nid oes terfyn arnat
  Nis gall dysgedigion doethaf
  O na byddai oriau 'mywyd
  O na chawn ddifyru nyddiau
  O 'sgrifena'n eglur eglur
  Y mae rhinwedd gras y nefoedd

O that my Lord's afflictions would
  In my heart get a place,
Every kind of anguish,
      and every kind of sadness,
  Every kind of scourge He got;
    That my sins might 
  Yield the day and go out.

Thou thyself there as King,
  Thou thyself there as God,
Thy own words there supreme
  Thy words of a most valuable kind;
    Thou wilt thus make 
  A black, miry pit into a holy temple.

There make thy delightful dwelling
  The dwelling of the crucified Lamb,
And do not retreat from there
  While there is breath in my nostril,
    Lest my detestable
  Sins try to come back.

O write clearly, clearly,
  In letters all full,
Every little syllable of thy law
  On my breast here altogether,
    I will not forget
  Ever thy words of great price.

Blood wrote on the wooden cross
  strong, divine, gracious love;
Not to be written on my heart
  Ever are thy words but with blood;
    Behold the writing
  Will persist longer
        than the world will endure.

O that my Lord's afflictions would
  In my heart get a place,
Every kind of anguish,
      and every kind of sadness,
  Every kind of scourge He got;
    That my sins might 
  Yield the day and go out.

O that the hours of my life would,
  Nourish itself on the hours of thy pain,
That I may run together
  With the afflictions of the gentle Lamb;
    My sins would
  Thus soon lose the day.

O direct Thou my eyes
  To get to see the full love
Which streamed out like the seas
  On Calvary one afternoon;
    To see thy wounds
  Is the chief delight of my lifespan.

There is no way of deliverance,
  But was opened on the tree;
The path of guilty sinners
  Into the gates of bright heaven;
    Here is the highway,
  Make me walk it while ever I live.

Upon thee, Jesus, be my thoughts,
  About thy love be my song;
May the sound of thy sufferings take
  All my affections completely:
    Thy love is
  Higher than anyone ever heard.

Wash the unclean, black conscience,
  Whiter than the fine snow;
Make the dirty, hundred-times-defiled
  In the muck-heap, like the wool:
    Who can measure,
  The breadth and vast depth of thy grace?

Sin here, love there,
  Once were in the great scales,
And despite how heavy was the sin,
  Love weighed down to the ground:
    The word "Finished",
  Made the scales weightily turn.

He suffered cruel death,
  The painful, most bitter
        death of the cross;
And he conquered the hosts of hell,
  Through his divine mortal throes;
    Now is finished,
  The salvation that came to me.

Jesus, there is no end to thee
  The extensive justice of thy grace is
More plenteous, deeper
  A hundredfold than is my hated sin:
    Ever dear
  Sons of men will evermore love thee.

Jesus, may I think upon thee,
  Let my song be of thy love;
And the story of thy passion
  Turn my thoughts to realms above.
    Ear has never
  Heard of greater love than thine.

Tune [878747]:
  Tyddyn Llwyn (Evan Morgan 1846-1920)