Fe safai'n Harchoffeiriad

Fe safai'n Harchoffeiriad
  Rhwng euog fyd a'r Tad,
A rhoddai'i Hun yn bridwerth
  O'i wirfodd, heb nacād;
Fe ddaeth yn mlaen ā'i aberth,
  Fe'i hoeliodd ar y pren,
Agorodd, trwy ei haeddiant,
  Holl ddrysau'r nefoedd wen.

A thyma'r Angel cadarn
  Sy'n sefyll uwch y nen,
A'r gwregys am ei lwynau,
  A'r meitr am ei ben;
Yn dal y thuser sanctaidd
  Sydd o aroglau'n llawn,
A'r tarth yn codi' fyny
  O fore hyd brydnawn.

Mi rof fy nwylaw bellach
  Ar ben yr Aberth mawr;
Mi rifaf yno'n gryno
  Fy holl bechodau i lawr:
A'm dagrau hallt mi olchaf
  Draed fy Iachawdwr Crist,
Y traed mor fuan redodd
  I achub f'enaid trist.

          - - - - -

Fe safai'n Harchoffeiriad
  Rhwng euog fyd a'r Tad,
A rhoddai'i Hun yn bridwerth
  O'i wirfodd, heb nacād;
Fe ddaeth yn mlaen ā'i aberth,
  Fe'i hoeliodd ar y pren,
Agorodd, trwy ei haeddiant,
  Holl ddrysau'r nefoedd wen.

A dyma'r peraroglau
  Sy'n codi'n darth yn awr,
I arogli'n beraidd hyfryd
  Yn ffroenau Brenin mawr:
Y Tad a fynai'i ddryllio
  Er iachawdwriaeth dyn,
I arbed meibion dynion,
  Ffordd arall nid oedd un.

Efe yw'm Harchoffeiriad
  Sy uwch y nefoedd fry,
Mewn harddwch a gogoniant,
  Mwy na'r angelaidd lu;
Ac ynddo mae fy ngobaith
  Wrth deimlo meiau'n drwm,
A phan f'ont yn fy ngwasgu
  Fel mynydd mawr o blwm.

gwelir:
  Ei waith fel Archoffeiriad
  Mi bwysaf arnat Arglwydd
  Mi ro'f fy nwylaw bellach
  O dyma'r Archoffeiriad

Our High Priest stood
  Between a guilty world and the Father,
Who gave Himself as a ransom
  Voluntarily, without refusal;
He brought forward his sacrifice,
  He nailed it to the tree,
He opened, through his merit,
  All the doors of bright heaven.

And behold the firm Angel
  Who is standing above the sky,
With the belt about his loins,
  And the mitre about his head;
Holding his holy censer
  Which is of scents full,
And the smoke rising up
  From morning until evening.

I will put my hands now
  On the head of the great Sacrifice;
I will number there trembling
  All my sins down:
With my salt tears I will wash
  The feet of my Saviour Christ,
The feet which so soon ran
  To save my sad soul.

               - - - - -

Our High Priest stood
  Between a guilty world and the Father,
And gave Himself as a ransom
  Voluntarily, without refusal;
He brought forward his sacrifice,
  He nailed it to the tree,
He opened, through his merit,
  All the doors of bright heaven.

And here are the sweet scents
  Which are rising as smoke now,
To smell delightfully sweet
  In the nostrils of the great King:
The Father insisted on smashing him
  For the sake of the salvation of man,
To save the sons of men,
  No other way there was.

He is my High Priest
  Who is higher than the heavens above,
In beauty and glory,
  Greater than the angelic host;
And in him is my hope
  While feeling my heavy faults,
And when they be pressing on me
  Like a great mountain of lead.