Ca'dd gario'r groes i ben y bryn

Ca'dd gario'r groes i ben y bryn,
Nes llethu'n llwyr
    fy Iesu'n llyn;
  Gan wawdio'm Prynwr pur:
A dweud, ai dyma Israel Sanct,
Ei waed boed arnom ni a'n plant;
  O f'enaid, cofia ei gur.

Y ddaear fud roi'i meirw'n fyw,
A'r creigydd fry a holltai'n íriw,
  Wrth edrych ar fath gur:
Yr haul a ymguddiai wrth y lo's,
Y lloer a'r ser
    ai'n dywyll nos;
  O f'enaid, cofia ei gur.

Trywanwyd do fy Mhrynwr rhad,
Nes daeth o'i galon ddw'r a gwa'd,
  Yn ffrwd fel afon bur;
Oedd ar y llawr i wel'd yn llyn,
Yn frwd ar ben Calfaria fryn;
  O f'enaid, cofia ei gur.

Mi glywa'i lef pan
    chwerwa'r loes,
A'i eirad gri ef ar y groes,
  Am faddeu i mi'n wir;
Ei weddi ai trofwyf uwch y nen,
A mi'n ei hoelio ar y pren;
  O f'enaid, cofia ei gur.

Dros f'enaid i bu'r addfwyn Oen,
Fel hyn yn diodde' dirfawr boen,
  I'm gwneud yn rhydd yn wir:
'Roedd yn ei fryd orphennu'r gwaith,
O eitha' tragwyddoldeb maith;
  O f'enaid, cofia ei gur.

gwelir:
  Rhan I - O deffro tro fy enaid trist
  Ai Iesu Cyfaill dynol-ryw?
  Fy enaid nac an(n)ghofia groes
  O boed fy nghalon oll ar dân
  Rhow'd mantell goch am dan yr Oen
  Trywanwyd do fy Mhrynwr rhad
  Y ddaear fud ro'i meirw'n fyw

The cross got carried to the hill's summit,
Until completely overwhelming
    my Jesus thus;
  Scorning my pure Redeemer:
And saying, Is this the Holy One of Israel?
His blood be upon us and our children;
  O my soul, remember his wounding.

The mute earth would give up its dead alive,
And the rocks above split into fragments,
  On looking on such wounding:
The sun would hide itself at the anguish,
The moon and the stars
    would become dark night;
  O my soul, remember his wounding.

He was pierced, yes, my gracious Redeemer,
Until from his heart came water and blood,
  As a stream like a pure river;
Which was on the ground seen as a lake,
Ardently on the summit of Calvary hill;
  O my soul, remember his wounding.

I hear his call when the anguish
    became more bitter,
And his earnest cry on the cross,
  For forgiveness for me truly;
His praise went for me above the sky,
And I nailing him to the tree;
  O my soul, remember his wounding.

For my soul was the gentle Lamb,
Thus suffering enormous pain,
  To make me truly free:
It was his intent to finish the work,
From the utmost vast eternity;
  O my soul, remember his wounding.