Fe'th welwn ar y groes

Fe'th welwn ar y groes
  Yn wael dy lun,
Glwyfedig yw dy wedd,
  Fab y Dyn.

Drain yw dy goron di,
  Dy orsedd, croes,
Dioddefaist trosom ni
  Angau loes.

Nid oes obennydd clyd
  O dan dy ben,
Dy wely caled yw'r
  Garw bren.

Fe'th hoelir ar y pren,
  Trywenir di,
Ac nid oes neb gerllaw
  Glyw dy gri.

Cysgodau dyfnder nos
  Sydd yn crynhoi,
Y mae dy geraint oll
  Wedi ffoi.

Blin dy grochlefain di,
  Dy glwyfus ben;
Ogwydda ar dy fron
  Ar y pren.

Fe wawdia'r lleidir drwg
  Dy boenau di;
A yw dy boenau oll
  Erof fi?

Yn edrych o hir-bell,
  Yn ddwys a syn,
Saif dy gyfeillion trist
  Ar y bryn.

Mi welaf, uwch dy ben,
  Dy ysgrif di;
"Iesu o Nasareth,
  Crist ein Rhi."

Pa beth, fy Ngheidwad mwyn,
  A welaist ti
I ddioddef angau'r groes
  Erof fi?

gwelir:
  Rhan I (Y Gofyniad) Gwel ef â'i wisg yn goch
  Rhan II (Yr Ateb) Dringwch i Galfari
  Rhan IV (Cenadwri'r Groes) Ti blentyn ing fy mron
  Rhan V (Yr Ateb) O Grist dilynaf di

We see thee on the cross
  Thy condition poor,
Wounded is thy countenance,
  Son of Man.

Thorns are thy crown,
  Thy throne, a cross,
Thou didst suffer for us
  The throes of death.

There is no cosy pillow
  Under thy head,
Thy hard bed is the
  Rough tree.

Thou art nailed on the tree,
  Thou art pierced,
And there is none at hand
  To hear thy cry.

The shadows of the depth of night
  Are gathering,
All thy loved ones
  Have fled.

Grievous thy groaning,
  Thy wounded head;
Bows upon thy breast
  On the tree.

The wicked thief mocks
  Thy pains;
And all thy pains
  For me?

Looking from afar,
  Intently and shocked,
Stand thy sad friends
  On the hill.

I see, above thy head,
  Thy inscription;
"Jesus of Nazareth,
  Christ our Lord."

What, my dear Saviour,
  Didst thou see
To suffer the death of the cross
  For me?

On the cross lifted
  Thy face we scan,
Bearing that cross for us,
  Son of Man.

Thorns form Thy diadem,
  Rough wood Thy throne;
For us Thy blood is shed,
  Us alone.

No pillow under Thee
  To rest Thy head;
Only the splintered cross
  Is Thy bed.

Nails pierced Thy hands and feet,
  Thy side the spear;
No voice is nigh to say
  Help is near.

Shadows of midnight fall,
  Though it is day:
Thy friends and kinfolk stand
  Far away.

Loud is Thy bitter cry;
  Sunk on Thy breast
Hangeth Thy bleeding head
  Without rest.

Loud scoffs the dying thief,
  Who mocks at Thee:
Can it, my Saviour, be
  All for me?

Gazing, afar from Thee,
  Silent and lone,
Stand those few weepers Thou
  Callest Thine own.

I see Thy title, Lord,
  Inscribed above;
"Jesus of Nazareth,"
  King of Love.

What, O my Saviour,
  Here didst Thou see,
Which made Thee suffer and
  Die for me?

see also:
  Part 1 (The Question) See Him in raiment rent
  Part 2 (The Answer) Follow to Calvary
  Part 4 (The Message of the Cross) Child of my grief and pain
  Part 5 (The Resolve) O I will follow thee