Coffawn yn llawen gyda pharch

Coffawn yn llawen gyda pharch
  Am ras ein Harchoffeiriad;
Un yw o galon dyner iawn,
  A mynwes lawn o gariad.

Cyd-deimlo mae â'n natur wan,
  Fe ŵyr mor egwan ydyw;
Gŵyr beth yw profedigaeth gref,
  Can's teimlodd ef y cyfryw.

Ond diddrwg a difai o hyd,
  Ein Prynwr hefyd safodd;
Er dyoddef tanllyd
    saethau'r fall,
  Hyd waed heb ball
      gwrth'nebodd.

Yn nyddiau'i egwan gnawd 'roedd ef
  Yn tywallt llef a dagrau;
Cyd-deimlo eto mae pan fo
  Un aelod iddo'n dyodde'.

Ni ddiffydd lin yn mygu byth,
  Yn fflam fe'i chwyth yn hytrach;
Y gorsen ysig byth ni thyr, -
  Y gwan fe'i gyr yn gryfach.

Am hyny, yn ei
    nerth a'i nawdd
  Rhown ninau'n hawdd ein hyder;
Ac yna'n gwared gawn bob tro
  Mewn amser o gyfyngder.

Let us recollect joyfully with reverence
  The grace of our High Priest;
He is one of a very tender heart,
  And a breast full of love.

He sympathises with our weak nature,
  He knows how feeble it is;
He knows what is strong temptation,
  For he felt the like.

But without evil and faultless always,
  Our Redeemer also stood;
Although suffering the fiery
    arrows of the devil,
  As far as blood without
      faltering he withstood.

In the days of his feeble flesh he was
  Pouring out a cry and tears;
Sympathising he is still while there is
  One of his members suffering.

He will never extinguish smoking flax,
  Into a flame he will blow it rather;
The bruised reed he will never break, -
  The weak he will make stronger.

Therefore, in his strength
    and his protection
  Let us render readily our confidence;
And then get delivered every time
  In a time of straits.

With joy we meditate the grace
  Of our high priest above;
His heart is made of tenderness,
  His bowels melt with love.

Touched with a sympathy within,
  He knows our feeble frame;
He knows what sore temptations mean,
  For He has felt the same.

But spotless, innocent, and pure,
  The great Redeemer stood,
While Satan's fiery
    darts He bore,
  And did resist
      to blood.

He in the days of feeble flesh
  Poured out His cries and tears,
And in His measure feels afresh
  What every member bears.

He'll never quench the smoking flax,
  But raise it to a flame;
The bruisèd reed He never breaks,
  Nor scorns the meanest name.

Then let our humble
    faith address
  His mercy and His power;
We shall obtain delivering grace
  In the distressing hour.