[Y Gŵr / Yr Oen] fu ar Galfaria

Y Gŵr fu ar Galfaria,
  A welir maes o law;
Yn eistedd ar ei orsedd,
  A'r glorian yn ei law;
A phawb a gesglir yno,
  I'w pwyso ger ei fron;
O! f'enaid cais dduwioldeb,
  I droi y glorian hon.

Daw dydd o brysur bwyso,
  Ar grefydd cyn bo hir;
Cei gwel'd gan bwy mae sylwedd,
  A phwy sydd heb y gwir:
O! Arglwydd rho im' 'dnabod,
  Ar f'ysbryd ol dy law;
Can's dyna'r ddelw a'r argraff,
  Arddelir ddydd a ddaw.

Bydd myrdd o ryfeddodau,
  Ar doriad bore wawr;
Pan ddelo plant y tònau,
  Yn iach o'r cystudd mawr;
Oll yn eu gynau gwynion,
  Ac ar eu newydd wedd;
Yn debyg i'w eu Harglwydd,
  Yn dod i'r làn o'r bedd.

Mae cofio dydd y cyfrif,
  Yr hwn a ddaw cyn hir,
Yn uchel alw arnaf
  I lefain am y gwir;
'Rwy'n ofni 'nhwyllo f'hunan,
  O Dduw, didwylla fi:
Nid oes a ddeil ei bwyso
  Ond gwaith dy Ysbryd di.

Ti Iesu, 'r Hwn a heoliwyd,
  A ddrylliwyd gan Dy gur;
Disgleiried yn fy muchedd
 Dy ddelw sanctaidd, bur;
Pan ddelo'r ymdrech olaf,
  Fy Llywydd, rhwyga'r llen,
Yn dirion debyn f'yspryd
 I wynfyd y nef wen.

Gwelir:
  Bydd myrdd o ryfeddodau
  Daw dydd o brysur bwyso
  Y Gŵr wrth Ffynnon Jacob

The Man who was on Calvary,
  Is to be seen at hand;
Sitting on his throne,
  With the scales in his hand;
And everyone to be gathered there,
  To be weighed in his presence;
O my soul, seek divinity,
  To turn those scales.

The day of reckoning will come,
  On religion before long;
It will be seen who has substance,
  And who lacks the truth:
O Lord, grant me to know
  On my spirit the mark of thy hand;
For that is the image and the impression,
  To be professed on the day to come.

There will be a myriad of wonders
  At the break of the morrow's dawn,
When the children of the waves come
  Saved from the great tribulation,
All in their white robes
  And transfigured,
Like unto their Lord
  Coming up from the grave.

Remembering the day of reckoning,
  That to come before long,
Is a high call upon me
  To cry for the truth;
I fear deceiving myself,
  O God, make me guileless:
There is nothing that keeps its weight
  But the work of thy Spirit.

Thou Jesus, who wast nailed,
  And broken by thy wounding;
In my way of life let thy
  Pure, sacred, image shine;
When the last struggle comes,
  My Leader, rend the curtain,
Tenderly receive my spirit
  To the blessedness of bright heaven.

Once again the world shall see
Him who went to Calvary,
  Sitting throned in high command,
  With the balance in His hand:
All of every time and place
Shall be weighed before His face:
  Seek, my soul, the pearl most rare,
  That will turn the balance there!