O deffro, tro, fy enaid trist,
Gwel 'ffernol griw, o ddautu'th Grist,
Am ladd dy Brynwr pur;
Yn 'mofyn gang, o dystion gau,
I Pilat i'w gondemnio'n glau;
O f'enaid cofia'i gur.
[O deffro, gwel, fy enaid trist,
Uffernol lu o ddeutu'th Grist,
Am ladd dy Brynwr pur;
Yn 'mofyn torf o dystion gau
I Pilat i'w gondemnio'n glau:
O! f'enaid, cofia'i gur.]
Gan bwys y gwaith,
fe chwysai'r gwaed,
Yn llif di-drai,
o'i ben i'w draed,
A hyn dros oriau hir;
Fe yfai'n rhwydd, o'i gariad rhad,
Y cwpan dû o law ei Dad;
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Y ceidwad cu, ei gondemnio gâ's;
Llofruddion lu a ddaeth i maes
A geirwon hoelion dur:
O dan y pwys, er maint y poen,
Distewi wnaeth fel addfwyn Oen;
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Gelynion llym a godai eu llef,
Croeshoeha, O! croeshoelia ef!
Ni haeddai fyw yn hir:
Yn mhlith y llu, aed âg e'n llyn,
I farw ar Galfaria fryn:
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Rho'wd mantell goch am dan yr Oen,
Gan ddrain ei ben ddioddefai boen;
'Nawr wele'r Brenin pur!
Fflangellwyd ef nes oedd yn waed,
A chŵysau du,
o'i ben i'w draed:
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
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 s cofia'i gur.
Y ddaiar fud, roi ei meirw'n fyw,
A'r creigydd fry a holltai'n friw,
Wrth edrych ar fath gûr:
Yr haul a 'mguddiai wrth y lo's,
Y lloer a'r sêr ai'n dywyll nôs:
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Trywanwyd do, fy mhrynwr rhad,
Nes daeth o'i galon ddŵr a gwa'd,
Yn ffrwd fel afon bur:
Oedd ar y llawr i'w wel'd yn llyn,
Yn frwd, ar ben Calfaria fryn;
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Mi glywa ei lef,
pan chwerwa'r loes,
A'i eirad gri ef ar y groes,
Am faddeu i mi'n wir;
Ei weddi troswyf, ai uwch nen,
A mi'n ei hoelio ar y pren;
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Dros f'enaid bu'r addfwyn Oen,
Fel hyn, yn diodde' dirfawr boen:
I'm gwneyd yn rhydd yn wir:
'Roedd yn ei fryd, orphenu'r gwaith
O eithaf trag'wyddoldeb maith;
O f'enaid, cofia'i gur.
Tonau [886D]:
gwelir: |
O awake, turn, my sad soul,
See a hellish crew, around thy Christ,
Wanting to kill thy pure Redeemer;
A gang of false witnesses asking
Pilate to condemn him quickly;
O my soul, remember his pain.
[O awake, see, my sad soul,
A hellish host around thy Christ,
Wanting to kill thy pure Redeemer;
A throng of false witnesses asking
Pilate to condemn him quickly:
O my soul, remember his pain!]
Under the weight of the work,
he was sweating the blood,
As an unebbing flood,
from his head to his feet,
And this for long hours;
He would drink freely, of his free love,
The black cup from his Father's hand;
O my soul, remember his pain.
The dear saviour, he was condemned;
A host of murderers brought out
Rough steel nails:
Under the weight, despite the pain,
He was silent like a gentle Lamb;
O my soul, remember his pain.
Keen enemies raised their cry,
Crucify, O crucify him!
He did not deserve to live long:
Amongst the throng, they took him thus,
To die on Calvary hill:
O my soul, remember his pain.
A red cloak was put around the Lamb,
From thorns his head suffered pain;
Now see the pure King!
He was scourged until there was blood,
A black drops of sweat,
from his head to his feet:
O my soul, remember his pain.
He got to carry the cross
to the summit of the hill,
Until my Jesus was totally overcome thus,
While scorning my pure Redeemer:
And saying, "Is this Israel's Holy One?
His blood be upon us and our children!"
O my soul, remember his pain.
The earth mute, gave up its dead alive,
And the rock above was splitting apart,
On seeing such pain:
The sun hid itself from the anguish,
The moon and the stars became dark night:
O my soul, remember his pain.
He was pierced, yes, my gracious Redeemer,
Until water and blood came from his heart,
As a stream like a pure river:
It was on the ground to be seen thus,
Ardently, on the summit of Calvary hill;
O my soul, remember his pain.
I hear his wail,
when the anguish gets bitter,
And his woeful cry on the cross,
For forgiveness for me truly;
His prayer for me, went above the sky,
And I nailing him onto the tree;
O my soul, remember his pain.
For my soul did the gentle Lamb,
Thus, suffer enormous pain:
For me to be made truly free:
It was in his mind, to finish the work
From the extremity of a vast eternity;
O my soul, remember his pain.
tr. 2019 Richard B Gillion |
|