A lot of what we know about St Dyfnog comes from a poem written in Welsh by Dafydd ap Llywelyn ap Madog in the 16th Century. It talks of the spring, its healing powers and Dyfnog’s piety.
Dyfnog
Dyfnog, sage, my devotion
and life’s dues to thee I bring.
To thy hallowed church I come
in Llanrhaeadr’s fine dale.
I thy image have adored,
and thy countenance I know.
Now is heaven they home to dwell
with the Sun of Righteousness.
All they mighty miracles
in this place do us restore.
A joyous fountain was to
thee vouchsafed, oh man of grace.
Wondrous miracle, we see
from the rock a crystal stream,
waters flowing to the well,
ever potent and relieving.
Soothing salve from earth does rise
beyond price in terms of gold,
cascade of grace for nations,
a gift of heavenly blessings,
its power all surpassing,
we can’t know its worth to us.
Zion’s river in full flow
surges forth with mighty joy.
Jordon’s merit here is seen
in the spring-head, gloriously,
on display for all to see,
crowning its healing temple.
Here, sores of the sick are bathed,
and quenched are all their fevers.
Ever a source of healing:
a pillar bearing witness.
Dyfnog, to all supplicants
unfailing in thy bounty,
thee they seek from many lands
for miracles of healing.
All illness, all diseases,
all the weak, from all the earth,
all the world’s maimed, hurt and bound,
all folk infirm and ailing,
will release and freedom find
by the wondrous miracles.
All the blind who could not see
by thy power re-gained sight.
All the deaf who sought they aid
re-gained hearing, crystal clear.
By thy abundant graces
all the dumb found eloquence.
Sufferers of torments sharp,
victims of the smallpox, all
to thy well in hundreds come
and are cured body and soul.
Merit from that sacred site,
where thou didst thy penance make
as the frigid waters flowed
from the rock to cleanse thy guilt,
has become, great soul, for us
a life-giving source of health.
While thou humbly didst impart
gifts of learning in our land,
worldly pomp and vanity
had no part to play for thee.
Never falling into sin,
love of God sustaining thee.
Though skin chafed, thou put on Christ,
sackcloth was thy raiment then,
held in place with iron hoop –
thee encircling, penance paid.
strong abstainer, all thy needs
were by bread and water met.
Life in heaven with the Father
thou hast gained for evermore.
Translation by E. Gwynn Matthews
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