Pechadur wyf a aeth yn llwyr ar goll

Pechadur wyf
    a aeth yn llwyr ar goll,
O'm pen i'm traed
    yn euog, aflan, oll;
  Tan glwyfau dwys,
      tra dyfnion, trymion, trist,
  Ond Meddyg rhad i'm bath
      yw Iesu Grist.

Efe ei Hun,
    i roddi im' iachâd,
Yw'r Un a fedd
    bob gras a rhinwedd rhâd;
  Ac ato Ef,
      sy'n ffynnon o bob dawn,
  Mi goda'm llef hwyr,
      bore, a phrydnawn.

O! Iesu gwiw,
    golch fi o'm pen i'm traed,
Trwy rinwedd pur
    dy werthfawr Ddwyfol waed;
  Rho heddwch im'
      rhag euog ofnus gur,
  A llanw fi
      â'th anian sanctaidd bur.

Fy Iesu,
    mae diferyn bach o'th hedd,
Mewn byd o boen
    yn beraidd hyfryd wledd:
  O'r afon fydd
      i'w hyfed mewn mwynhâd,
  Fel melus wîn,
      yn hyfryd dŵ ein Tad.

A sinner am I
    who is going completely to perdition,
From my head to my feet
    all guilty, unclean;
  Under serious wounds
      so deep, heavy, sad,
  But a free Physician for my condition
      is Jesus Christ.

He Himself,
    to give me health,
Is the One who possesses
    every grace and free merit;
  And unto Him
      who is the fount of every gift,
  I will raise my voice, evening,
      morn, and afternoon.

O worthy Jesus,
    wash me from my head to my feet,
Through the pure merit
    of thy precious Divine blood;
  Give peace to me
      from a guilty, fearful stroke,
  And fill me
      with thy holy, pure nature.

My Jesus,
    a small drop of the peace is,
In a world of pain
    a sweet, delightful feast:
  From the river of faith
      to be drunk in enjoyment,
  Like sweet wine,
      in the delightful house of our God.