Pechadur wyf O Arglwydd

Pechadur wyf, O Arglwydd,
  Sy'n curo wrth dy ddôr;
Erioed mae dy drugaredd
  Diddiwedd imi'n stôr:
Er iti faddau beiau
  Rifedi'r tywod man
Gwn fod dy hen drugaredd
  Lawn cymaint ag o'r blaen.

Dy hen addewid rasol
  A gadwodd rif y gwlith
O ddynion wedi eu colli
  A gân ardani byth;
Er cael eu mynych glwyfo
  Gan bechod is y nen,
Iacheir eu clwyfau mawrion
  Â dail y bywiol bren.

Gwasgara'r tew gymylau
  Oddi yma i dŷ fy Nhad,
Datguddia imi beunydd
  Yr iachawdwriaeth rad,
A dywed air dy hunan
  Wrth f'enaid clwyfus, trist
Dy fod yn maddau 'meiau
  Yn haeddiant Iesu Grist.

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Pechadur wyf, O Arglwydd,
  Sy'n curo wrth Dy ddôr;
Erioed mae Dy drugaredd
  Diddiwedd imi'n stôr.
Er iti faddau beiau
  Rifedi'r tywod mân,
Gwn fod Dy hen drugaredd
  Lawn cymaint ag o'r bla'n.

Er i mi bechu yn ffiaidd
  O'm mebyd hyd yn awr,
Mil mwy yw dy drugaredd
  Nâ'm holl bechodau mawr;
Mwy 'rhinwedd gwaed dy galon
  Nâ'm ffiaidd bechod cas,
Dyfnach nâ'm damnedigaeth
  Yw'th gadwedigol ras.

Mil cryfach yw dy gariad
  Nâ'r hen elyniaeth gas
Sy'n ddirgel yn fy mynwes
  Yn llwyr wrth'nebu'th ras;
Trag'wyddol yw dy gariad,
  Fe dynn fy nrwg o'r gwraidd,
Perffeithrwydd yn dragwywydd
  Feddiana'i gydâ'r praidd.

Gwir imi gyfeiliorni
  O ddechrau dyddiau 'nhaith
A phecu yn Dy erbyn
  Fil o filiynau maith;
O Ffrind troseddwyr, maddau
  Fy mhechod i, mawr yw!
Un olwg ar Dy glwyfau
  A lwyr iachâ fy mriw.

Er bod fy ffiaidd feiau
  Yn aml fel y gwlith,
Ni alla'i lai nâ chanu
  Am waed dy galon byth,
Wrth gredu'th fod yn maddeu
  I'r fath bechadur mawr,
Gogoniant f'o i'th enw
  Trwy'r nefoedd wen
      a'r llawr.

Fe gawd yr hyfryd fanna,
  Bwytawn o ŷd y wlad.
Mae rhai yn canu'n beraidd
  Am iechydwriaeth rad;
Mae'r Brenin ar Ei orsedd
  A'r pyrth yn lled y pen -
Fy enaid, mwy na orffwys
  Nes dringo uwch y nen.

gwelir:
  Dy hen addewid rasol
  Dysgwyliais wrth yr Arglwydd
  Ni cheisiai yn wyned Moses
  O'th flaen O Dduw 'rwy'n dyfod

A sinner am I, O Lord,
  Who is knocking at thy door;
Already is thy mercy
  Endless to me as a store:
Since thou forgivest faults
  The number of the fine sand
I know that thy old mercy is
  As full as before.

Thy old gracious promise
  Which kept as many as dewdrops
Of lost men
  Who sing on it forever.
Although they are often wounded
  By sin beneath the sky
Their great wounds are healed
  With leaves from the vital tree.

Disperse the thick clouds
  From here to my Father's house,
Disclose to me daily
  The free salvation,
And say thy own word
  To my sad, wounded soul
That thou dost forgive my sins
  By the merit of Jesus Christ.

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A sinner am I, O Lord,
  Who is knocking at thy door;
Already is thy mercy
  Endless to me as a store:
Since thou forgivest faults
  The number of the fine sand
I know that thy old mercy is
  As full as before.

Although I have sinned detestably
  From my boyhood until now,
A thousand times greater is thy mercy
  Than all my great sins;
More the merit of the blood of thy heart
  Than my detestable, hated sins,
Deeper than my condemnation
  Is thy saving grace.

A thousand times stronger is thy love
  Than the old hated enemy
Who is secretly in my breast
  Totally opposing thy grace;
Eternall is thy love,
  It will pull my evil from the root,
Perfection in eternity
  I shall possess with the flock.

Truly I have been straying
  From the start of the days of my journey
And sinning against Thee
  A thousand-million-fold;
O Friend of transgressors, forgive
  My sin, it is great!
One look at Thy wounds
  Will completely heal my bruise.

Although my detestable faults are
  Manifold like the dew,
I can do no less than sing
  About hte blood of thy heart forever,
While believing that thou art forgiving
  Such a great sinner,
Glory be to thy name
  Throughout the blessed heaven
      and the earth.

Delight is had there,
  Let us eat of the grain of the land.
Some are singing sweetly
  Of free salvation;
The King is on His throne
  And the portals wide open -
My soul, rest no more
  Until climbing above the sky.

See, Lord, a needy sinner
  Stand knocking at Thy door,
For grace is ever treasured
  In Thee a boundless store;
The sins already pardoned
  No mind but Thine can count;
But, Lord, Thine ancient mercy
  Is still a flowing fount.










Disperse the clouds concealing
  My Father's house from view,
And of the great salvation
  Give daily visions new;
And to my wounded spirit
  Speak Thou a healing word,
Of full and free forgiveness,
  Through Jesus Christ my Lord.

- - - - -

Behold a poor sinner, Lord,
  Now knocking at Thy door;
O let Thy depth of mercy
  Be mine in endless store.
Though Thou hast pardoned millions
  Of guilty, sinful men,
Yet Thy great stores of mercy
  Forever will remain.

The clouds, O Lord, do scatter
  Between me and Thy face;
Reveal to me the glory
  Of Thy redeeming grace;
Speak Thou in words of mercy,
  While in distress I call;
And let me taste forgiveness,
  Through Christ, my all in all.

Tôn [7676D]: Llydaw (alaw Lydawig)

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Thy gracious ancient promise
  Has saved a countless host