Mae'r gair yn bur a'r ddeddf yn lân

Mae'r gair yn bur, a'r ddeddf yn lân,
A Duw ei hun yn ysol dân;
  A ninau'n euog ger ei fron,
  Heb nodded ar y ddaear hon.

Ond yn y tywydd garw hyn,
Mae golwg ar Galfaria fryn,
  A'r aberth fu yno
      un prydnawn,
  Yn dwyn tawelwch hyfryd iawn.

Mae yn y gwaed rinweddau gwiw,
I olchi'm henaid du ei liw;
  A phrawf o rin
      maddeuol ras,
  A gliria'm holl euogrwydd cas.

Pan gaf fy ngwneyd yn berffaith lân,
Perffaith pryd hyny fydd fy nghân;
  Caf roddi'r goron
      byth ar ben
  Yr hwn a'm prynodd ar y pren.

The word is pure, and the law is holy,
And God himself a consuming fire;
  And we guilty before him,
  Without protection on this earth.

But in this rough weather,
There is a view over Calvary hill,
  And the sacrifice which
      was there one afternoon,
  Bringing very delightful stillness.

In the blood there are worthy merits,
To wash my soul of a black colour;
  And an experience of the merit
      of forgiving grace,
  Shall clear all my hated guilt.

When I get made perfectly clean,
Perfect at that time will be my song;
  I may get to put the crown
      forever on the head
  Of him who redeemed me on the tree.