Ei enaid doddodd dan y gwres

Ei enaid doddodd gan y gwres,

   Fel ffwrnes yn ei galon;

A'r chwys a'r gwaed
    yn ddafnau mawr,

  Yn cwympo 'lawr yn gysson.


A dyma'r chwys, a dyma'r gwaed,

  Sy'n rhoi iachad i'r cleifion;

O'i ystlys tardd yr afon bur,

  Sy'n dofi cur y galon.


Fforddolion oll, sefwch o'r trwch,

  Yn awr edrychwch arno;

B'le ofid fel
    ein Harglwydd Ion,

  A glywsoch sôn am dano?


Ei apostolion, gwan eu ffydd,

  Yn ngwres y dydd a gysgodd,

Un gronyn help o'r dda'r
    na'r ne',

  Ac etto fe gongcwerodd.


Fe rodd ffarwel pan ar y groes

  I'w fywyd tros ei elynion;

'Nawr gwelwn uffern, dae'r, a ne',

  Yn mwydro Brenhin Seion.

His soul he put under the heat,

  Like a furnace in his heart;

With the sweat and the blood
    as large drops,

  Falling down constantly.


Behold the sweat, and behold the blood,

  Which are giving healing to the sick;

From his side issues the pure river,

  Which tames the beat of the heart.


All ye wayfarers, stand from the crowd,

  Now look ye upon him;

Where is grief like that
    of our Sovereign Lord,

  Heard ye ever mention of it?


His apostles, weak their faith,

  In the heat of the day who slept,

Not a grain of help from the earth
    nor heaven,

  And yet he conquered.


He bade farewell when on the cross

  To his life for his enemies;

Now we see hell, earth, and heaven,

  Murdering the King of Zion.

Be still, my soul, love and behold,
  The Victim on the tree:
The God, the Saviour groans and dies,
  For miserable me.

His spotless soul was melted by
  The heat of pain and scorn;
And wrath eternal but himself
  No other could have borne.

His sweat in bloody crimson hue,
  Drops thick unto the ground;
The blood and water issue forth
  In streams from every wound.

Earth, hell profound, and horrid death,
  In all their raging sway,
Assault his harmless soul alone;
  But he hath won the day.

Hath heaven seen in all her realms
  Some one that could sustain,
Such weight immense of wrath divine
  And execrable pain?

Sure this the sweat, and this the blood,
  And these the wounds that are
A balsam to the bruised hearts
  That languish in despair.

Ye that pass by, look to the tree,
  The harmless crucified;
Behold the Victim, stand amaz'd,
  And love the God that dy'd.

Hark to his sighs and doleful groans,
  And feel his pain and smart,
When every tender muscle reach'd
  The center of his heart.

Have men or angels ever known
  Such power and such love?
Or does a more celestial flame
  Reign in the realms above?