P'odd y galla'i ddweud sydd ynwyf

8,7,8,7,8,7,8,7

How shall I my case discover,

Who can estimate my grief!

If a cloud thy presence darken,

Nought can give my soul relief.

Through the clouds let my entreaty --

Let these sighs to Thee ascend,

Till new light break o'er my spirit --

Till thy gracious ear attend.

All my groans, my sighs, and weeping,

All my best resolves are vain,

My most watchful thoughts avail not,

Victory o'er sin to gain.

Lord, His name I plead who suffered

For lost man thy holy frown:

See the reed, the cross, the scourging;

See the robe, the thorny crown!

Through the sole atoning merit

Of the blood by Jesus shed,

Scatter all the sin that hinders

Heaven from shining on my head.

Pardon all the great transgressions,

Which I cannot count to Thee:

Look for merits in my Saviour,

Not, my righteous God, in me.

If for sin He was afflicted,

If the spear did pierce His side,

If His hands and feet were nailèd,

If flowed forth His vital tide;

Let the fruit of that deep anguish,

Let the purchase of that pain,

Be imparted to my spirit --

Shall the plea be made in vain!