Gwel draw fy Mrenin ar y pren

Gwel, draw, fy Mrenin ar y pren,
Yn niwedd dydd yn crymu ei ben;
  Poen angeu mwy
      na buasai ynghyd
  Ddioddefaint holl
      ferthyron byd.




Wel, angeu du, dy waethaf mwy,
I Ben y bobloedd
    rhoddaist glwy';
  Cododd i'r lan; fe gwyd i'r nef
  Fyrddiynau trwy ei godiad ef.



Os hoeliwyd ef un waith ar bren,
Os gorfu arno
    grymu ei ben,
  Dros f'enaid i bu hyn i gyd;
  Mi gofia'i boen
      tra bwy'n y byd.

 

'Does golwg harddach
    ddydd na nos
Na'm Iesu'n hongian ar y groes;
  Y dwylaw hoeliwyd ar y pren
  Ar fyr a egyr ddrws y nen.





Tybygwn 'mod i'n gwel'd ei waed
Yn llifo'n goch o'i ben i'w draed:
  Fy nghalon, pa'm nas tori'n friw?
  Fy Mhriod oedd efe, a'm Duw.

Fy enaid gwel ef ar y pren,
Yn gaeth gan angeu'n crymu'i ben;
  Angeu'r carcharor, laddodd ef,
  Ac esgyn wnaeth i ganol nef.

Fe ddarfu'i wae, diangodd Ner,
I'r b'radwys ddysglaer uwch y ser,
  Ei goron ga'dd; 'nawr ddydd a nos,
  Mae'n medi ffrwyth
      cystuddiau'r groes.

gwelir:
  Gofyniad nefoedd faith ei hun
  Ti f'Arglwydd mawr a chwysaist waed

See, yonder, my King on the tree,
At the end of day bowing his head;
  The pain of death greater
      than would be altogether
  The suffering of all
      the martyrs of the world.




See, black death, thy worst henceforth,
To the Head of the people
    thou gavest a wound;
  He rose up; he will raise to heaven
  Myriads through his rising.



If he was nailed once to the tree,
If it was necessary for him
    to bow his head,
  For my soul was all this;
  I will remember his pain
      while I am in the world.

 

There is no more beautiful sight
    day or night
Than my Jesus hanging on the cross;
  The hands nailed to the tree
  Shall shortly open the door of heaven.





I suppose that I am seeing his blood
Flowing red from his head to his feet:
  My heart, why dost thou not break apart?
  My Spouse was he, and my God.

My soul, see him on the tree,
Captive to death bowing his head,
  Death, the imprisoner, he killed,
  And he ascended to the centre of heaven.

His woe ended, the Master escaped,
To the radiant paradise above the stars,
  His crown he got; now day and night,
  He is reaping the fruit
      of the tribulations of the cross.

Amaze my soul, and yonder see
My Jesus nailed to the tree,
  Beneath such wight of pain and scorn
  As all the martyrs ne'er have borne.

His holy soul has felt within
The wight of others' guilt and sin,
  And patiently endur'd such woes
  As earth and hell could de'er impose.

O cruel Death! What canst thou more?
No farther reaches out thy power:
  The Shepherd thou hast smote, but now
  The weakest lamb escapes thy blow.

But he hath risen by his might,
And mounted to the realms of light,
  Where he shall lead his glorious train
  Above the reach of death again.

Why fear we death or Satan more,
Since Jesus all their fury bore?
  Our way is pav'd to mount above
  To sing his conquest and his love.

          ~ The Second Part ~

More sad or glorious is't to see
My Saviour nailed to the tree?
  O! would his bitter pain and shame
  With love supreme my heart inflame?

Those hands that felt the cruel pain
Thro' every tendon, every vein,
  Shall open soon in glorious wide
  The gates of glory to his bride.

Methinks I see the rivers meet
Both from his hands and from his feet?
  The gushes out a crimson tide
  Of blood and water from his side.

My heart, why canst not break to see
Such gloomy train of woes for thee?
  The least of his tormenting pain
  Is more than worlds, and worlds again.

But all his sufferings and love
Are written in the heaven above;
  His friends shall reap
      their fruit direct,
  His foes shall feel their dire effect.