Safai'r fam dan ddwys ofidio

Safai'r fam yn drist gan wylo,
Wrth y groes, a gwasgu dwylo,
  Weld ei mab ar bren y groes.
Trwy ei henaid drist, tosturus,
A hi yno yn ddolurus,
  Gwanai'r cledd ag
      ingol loes.

O mor drist, O mor boeniedig
Ydoedd hi, y fendigedig,
  Mam yr Unmab ar y pren!
Yno safai a dolefai
Wrth ei wylio lle dioddefai
  Boenau blin gan blygu'i ben.

Pwy na wylai, ar a aned,
Weled yno cyn druaned
  Fam yr Iesu yn ei chur?
Pa ryw galon nad ymchwelai
Wylio yno'r fam a welai
  Boeni mab
      ei mynwes bur?

Dros yr eiddo a'u pechodau
Hi a'i gwelai dan ddyrnodau
  Ac arteithiau ar y pren.
Gwyliai roi ei mab tirionaf
I farwolaeth, oedd greulonaf,
  Ac yn angau'n plygu'i ben.

Fam dirionaf, ffynnon cariad,
Fel y gwypwyf gydalariad
  Pâr im deimlo
      grym y loes;
Pâr i'm calon drachynhesu
Ato ef, fy Nuw, fy Iesu,
  Fel y rhoddwyf iddo f'oes.

Fam sancteiddiaf, boed i'm calon
Gyd-ddioddef ei dreialon
  Ef pan grogai ar y groes.
Boed i mi â'th Unmab gwirion
Ran o'r hyn a ddug mor dirion
  Erof i â dirfawr loes.

The mother sadly stood weeping,
By the cross, wringing her hands,
  Seeing her son on the wood of the cross.
Through her sad, pitiful soul,
And she there doleful,
  The sword weakened with
      agonising anguish.

O how sad, O how pained
Was she, the blessed one,
  Mother of the only son on the tree!
There she stood and lamented
As she watched the place he suffered
  Grievous pains as he bowed his head.

Who would not weep, of anyone born,
Seeing there so wretched
  The mother of Jesus in her pain?
What kind of heart would not swell
Watching there the mother who saw
  Suffering pain, the son
      of her pure bosom?

For his own and their sins
She saw him under the blows
  And tortures on the tree.
She watched them put her tenderest son
To a death, that was the most cruel,
  And in death bowing his head.

Tenderest Mother, the fount of love,
That I may share thy lamentation
  Cause me to feel
      the force of thy anguish;
Cause my heart to warm again
Towards him, my God, my Jesus,
  That I may give to him my lifespan.

Holiest Mother, may my heart be
Sharing in the suffering of his trials
  When he was hanging on the cross.
May I and thy innocent only son be
Part of that which he bore so tenderly
  For my sake with enormous anguish.

At the Cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
  Close to her Son to the last.
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish bearing,
  Now at length
      the sword has passed.

O how sad and sore distressed
Was that Mother, highly blest,
  Of the sole-begotten One.
Christ above in torment hangs,
she beneath beholds the pangs
of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep,
Whelmed in miseries so deep,
  Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
  In that Mother's
      pain untold?

For the sins of His own nation,
She saw Jesus wracked with torment,
  All with scourges rent:
She beheld her tender Child,
Saw Him hang in desolation,
  Till His spirit forth He sent.

O thou Mother! fount of love!
Touch my spirit from above,
  Make my heart
      with thine accord:
Make me feel as thou hast felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
  With the love of Christ my Lord.

Holy Mother! pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew
  Of my Saviour crucified:
Let me share with thee His pain,
Who for all my sins was slain,
  Who for me in torments died.

from the Latin
Stabat mater dolorosa
Jacopone da Todi 1230–1306