Ai dyma'r fan fy Iesu mawr?

Ai dyma'r fan, fy Iesu mawr,
  Yr wyt, yn llawr
      y ceufedd,
Yn cadw noswyl wedi'th waith,
  Mewn beddrod llaith yn gorwedd?

Mae'r genau fu'n bendithio'r byd,
  Yn awr yn fud ddilafar;
Y traed yn rhwym, a'r dwylaw cu
  Gan angau du yngharchar.

O! gad im' wylo wrth dy fedd,
  Ynghyd â'r gwragedd sanctaidd,
A gad i'm dagrau olchi'n awr
  D'anwyl-gorph gwerthfawr peraidd.

I b'le diangodd d'yspryd pur,
  Ar ôl dy lafur trymmaf,
Pan roist e' i fynu ar y Groes
  'N ôl diodde'r loes ddiweddaf?

Ai draw i'r anweledig fyd,
  Lle'r saint i gyd-orphwyso,
I draethu'r adgyfodiad mawr
  I'w cyrph o'r
      llawr a'r amdo?

Bywiogwyd yr ysprydion pur
  Wrth bregeth eglur Iesu,
Fod Iawn am fai
    pechadur gwael
  Oll newydd gael ei dalu.

Pan elwyf draw o'r ddaear hon
  I fyd ysprydion 'r Eglwys,
Crist, os caf huno ynot Ti,
  Bydd hwnnw i mi'n Baradwys.

Disgwyliaf yno mewn cref ffydd
  Nes delo dydd rhagorach,
Pan bryner y corph mau o'r bedd,
  I wlad wledd felusach.

            - - - - -

Ai dyma'r fan, fy Iesu mawr,
  Yr wyt yn llawr
      y ceufedd,
Yn gorffwys ennyd wedi gwaith,
  Mewn beddrod llaith yn gorwedd?

Mae'r genau fu'n bendithio'r byd,
  Yn awr yn fud ddi-lafar;
Y traed yn rhwym, a'r dwylo cu
  Gan angau du yng ngharchar.

I b'le diangodd d'ysbryd pur,
  Ar ôl dy lafur trymaf,
Pan roist e i fynu ar y Groes
  'N ôl diodde'r loes ddiweddaf?

Draw, draw i'r anweledig fyd,
  Lle cydorffwysa'r meirwon,
I draethu'r iachawdwriaeth rad
  Ac awr ryddhad
      i'r caethion.

Cyhoeddwyd i'r ysbrydion trist
  Newyddion da Crist Iesu,
Fod Iawn am fai
    pechadur gwael
  Oll newydd gael ei dalu.

Pan elwyf draw o'r ddaear hon
  I fyd ysbrydion 'r Eglwys,
Crist, os caf huno ynot Ti,
  Bydd hwn i mi'n Baradwys.

Is that the place, my great Jesus,
  Thou art, on the floor
      of the hollow grave,
Keeping a vigil after thy work,
  In a damp tomb lying?

The mouth that once blessed the world,
  Is now mutely unspeaking;
The feet bound, and the dear hands
  By black death imprisoned.

O let me weep at thy grave,
  Together with the holy women,
And let my tears wash now
  Thy dear, precious, sweet body.

To where did thy pure spirit escape,
  After thy heaviest work,
When thou gavest it up on the Cross
  After suffering the last throes?

Is it yonder to the unseen world,
  Where the saints lie together,
To expound the great resurrection
  To their bodies from the
      ground and the shroud?

The pure spirits were enlivened
  By the clear preaching of Jesus,
That the Ransom for the fault
    of base sinners
  All newly got paid.

When I go yonder from this earth
  To the world of the Church's spirits,
Christ, if I get to sleep in Thee,
  That shall be to me a Paradise.

I will wait there in strong faith
  Until a better day comes,
When my body is redeemed from the grave,
  To a land of a sweeter feast.

               - - - - -

Is this the place, my great Jesus,
  Thou art on the flood
      of the hollow grave,
Resting for a while after work,
  In a damp tomb lying?

The mouth that once blessed the world,
  Is now mutely unspeaking;
The feet bound, and the dear hands
  By black death imprisoned.

To where escaped thy pure spirit,
  After thy heaviest work,
When thou gavest it up on the Cross
  After suffering the last throes?

Yonder, yonder to the unseen world,
  Where the dead rest together,
To expound the free salvation
  And the hour of release
      for the captives.

Published to the sad spirits was
  The good news of Jesus Christ,
That the Ransom for the fault
    of base sinners has
  All newly got paid.

When I go yonder from this earth
  To the world of the Church's spirits,
Christ, if I get to sleep in Thee,
  This shall be to me a Paradise.