Iesu dy glod ar ddaear gron

Iesu! dy glod ar ddaear gron
Sy'n gwneyd fy enaid trist yn llon;
  Pêr sain yn nghlust pechadur gwael
  Yw enw hoff Iachawdwr hael.

Mewn ymadroddion mwynaidd ryw
Croesawit gynt
    y gwaela'n fyw;
  Pob un a ga'i
      ei raid heb ball,
  Fe lamai'r cloff, fe welai'r dall.

Onid Gwaredwr wyt o hyd,
Yn mhob rhyw le ac oes o'r byd;
  A fethodd
      grym dy air barhau,
  A'th holl fedrysrysdd i iachau?

Mae ynof hyder cryf, dilyth,
Mai'r Medyg da
    wyt eto byth;
  Mor fedrus 'nawr myfi a'th gaf,
  Mor foddlon heddyw wella'r claf!

O flwyddau'r byd
    mae deunaw cant,
Er pan y teithiaist
    fryn a phant;
  Ac eto dy drugaredd gun,
  A'th allu i iachau sy'r un.

A roddit ti i gyrph iachad,
A rhoi i enaid claf nacâd?
  Mae'n ganwaith hoffach
      ger dy fron,
  Feddyginiaethu hwn yn llon.

Iesu! fy mai a'm ffiaidd glwyf,
'N awr ger dy fron cyfadde'r wyf;
  Dechreu dy waith trwy faddeu'n rhad,
  A golch fi'n burlan yn dy wa'd.

Yr arwydd hwn, O! dyro'n awr
O eithaf dy haelioni mawr;
  Taenella fy nghydwybod syn,
  A chàna fi fel eira'n wyn.

Jesus, thy praise on the round earth
Is making my sad soul cheerful;
  A sweet sound in the ear of a base sinner
  Is the dear name of a generous Saviour.

In utterances of a tender sort
Thou wouldst welcome formerly
    the worst alive;
  Every one would get
      for his need without fail,
  The lame would dance, the blind would see.

Art thou not a Deliverer still,
In every kind of place and age of the world;
  And has the force of thy word
      ceased to endure,
  And all thy ability to heal?

There is in me strong, sincere confidence,
That the good Physician
    art thou still forever;
  As able now I shall get thee,
  As pleased today to heal the sick!

Of the years of the world
    there are eighteen hundred,
Since when thou didst travel
    hill and hollow;
  And still thy dear mercy,
  And thy power to heal are the same.

Wilt thou give to a body health,
And to give to the sick soul refuse?
  It is a hundred times more dear
      in thy presence,
  To treat this cheerfully.

Jsus, my fault and my detestable illness,
Now in thy presence confessing I am,
  Begin thy work through forgiving freely,
  And wash me wholly pure in thy blood.

Thy sign, O give now!
Of the extremity of thy great generosity;
  Sprinkle my astonished conscience,
  And bleach me like the snow white.

Jesu, thy far-extended fame
  My drooping soul exults to hear;
Thy name, thy all-restoring name,
  Is music in a sinner's ear.

Sinners of old thou didst receive,
  With comfortable
      words and kind,
Their sorrows cheer,
    their wants relieve,
  Heal the diseased, and cure the blind.

And art thou not the Saviour still,
  In every place and age the same?
Hast thou forgot
    thy gracious skill,
  Or lost the virtue of thy name?

Faith in thy changeless name I have;
The good, the kind physician,
    thou
  Art able now our souls to save,
  Art willing to restore them now.

Though eighteen hundred years
    are past
Since thou didst
    in the flesh appear,
  Thy tender mercies ever last;
  And still thy healing power is here!

Wouldst thou the body's health restore,
And not regard the sin-sick soul?
  The sin-sick soul
      thou lov'st much more,
  And surely thou shalt make it whole.

All my disease, my every sin,
To thee, O Jesus, I confess;
  In pardon, Lord, my cure begin,
  And perfect it in holiness.

That token of thine utmost good
Now, Saviour, now on me bestow;
  And purge my conscience with thy blood,
  And wash my nature white as snow.