Pwy lefodd dan loes
    y groes farwol gref?
Ai f'Arglwydd ei hun,
    Duw-ddyn ydoedd ef?
  Ai Awdwr y bywyd
      yn waedlyd ei wedd,
  A wasgwyd dan bwysau
      ein beiau i'r bedd?

Tri'n hongian ar grog,
    dau'n euog a gaed,
Un cyfiawn o'r tri
    a welai'n rhoi'i waed;
  Ac hwn yn y canol,
      mae'n wyrthiol i ni,
  Y mwyaf gofidus,
      truenus o'r tri.

Pa grynu mae'r llawr,
    arswydfawr mor syn?
Pa'm greigiau y'ch chwi
    yn hollti fel hyn?
  Ganwriad, pa'm, meddi,
      y curi dy fron,
  Os twyllwr a gafwyd
      i'r rhwyd yr awr hon?

Pa rwygaw o'r nen,
    mae'r llen hyd y llawr?
Haul, pa'm yr wyt brudd,
    dan orchudd yn awr?
  Chwi seintiau, gorphwyswch,
      y llwch yw eich lle,
  Nid hwn yw'r dydd cyfri',
      i godi, nagê!

Och! angeu dihedd,
    mor ryfedd dy rym,
Dy allu sydd fawr
    drwy'r llawr yn dra llym;
  O! fedd, ymegnïa,
      dal yna'n dy law,
  Bob graddau dan gloion
      o ddynion a ddaw.

Cei filwyr o'th blaid
    yn geidwaid heb gel,
A'r maen trwm, yn wir,
    osodir dan sel;
  Myn gadw terfynau
      bro angeu mewn bri,
  Rhag dygwydd bradwriaeth
      i'th deyrnas gaeth di.

Paham daeth, gerbron,
    genadon y nef,
I edrych lle bu
    ei oer-wely ef,
  Na thraethu'r fath fawrion
      newyddion o hedd,
  Os dyn i'n ffug-dwyllo
      fu yno'n ei fedd?

Na, na, dyma'r gwr,
    Gwaredwr gwir yw,
Un dwyfol yn d'od
    o'i feddrod yn fyw;
  Y maes pan wynebodd,
      o'i wirfodd ei hun,
  Drwy wersyll marwolaeth
      y daeth Mab y dyn.

Yn ngafael y bedd
    er gorwedd yn gaeth,
O'i frwydr yn rhydd
    a'i dywydd y daeth;
  Pob gelyn orchfygwyd,
      symudwyd y maen,
  Pyrth uffern ysbeiliodd,
      faluriodd o'i flaen.

Nid twyllwr ond Duw-ddyn
    ydyw y Mab rhad,
Oen hyfryd un hawl,
    Ior dwyfol â'i Dad;
  Addoled Cenedloedd
      a'r nefoedd yn un,
  Gan beirffaith gydnabod
      y Duwdod mewn dyn.

Who cried under the throes
    of the strong, deathly cross?
Was it my Lord himself,
    God-man was he?
  Was it the Author of life
      bloody his countenance,
  Who was pressed under the weight
      of our faults to the grave?

Three hanging on a gibbet,
    two guilty were found,
One righteous of the three
    I see giving his blood;
  And he in the middle,
      it is miraculous to us,
  The most grievous,
      pitiful of the three.

What shaking is the ground,
    terrible so astonished?
Why, rocks, are ye
    splitting like this?
  Centurion, why, tell,
      dost thou beat thy breast,
  If a deceiver was caught
      in the net this hour?

Why rending from heaven,
    is the curtain down to the ground?
Sun, why art thou sad,
    under cover now?
  Ye saints, rest ye,
      in the dust is your place,
  This is not the day of reckoning,
      to rise, no!

Oh! restless death,
    how amazing thy force,
Thy power is great
    throughout the earth so sharp;
  O grave, be energised,
      hold there in thy hand,
  All degrees under locks
      of men shall come.

Thou shalt get soldiers on thy side
    as guards with no lie,
And the heavy stone, truly,
    to be set under a seal;
  Insist on keeping the boundaries
      of the vale of death in honour,
  Against the happening of betrayal
      to thy captive realm.

Why came, nearby,
    the emissaries of heaven,
To look where was
    his cold bed,
  Such great ones not expounding
      news of peace,
  If a man falsely deceiving us
      was there in his grave?

No no, behold the man,
    a true Deliverer he is,
A divine one coming
    from his tomb alive;
  The field when he faced,
      voluntarily himself,
  Through the camp of death
      came the Son of man.

In the grip of the grave
    despite lying captive,
From his battle fee
    and its weather he came;
  Every enemy was overcome,
      the stone was removed,
  The portals of hell were plundered,
      smashed before him.

Not a deceiver but God-man
    is the gracious Son,
A delightful lamb of one claim,
    A divine Lord and his Father;
  Let Nations worship
      with the heavens as one,
  Perfectly recognising
      the Godhead in man.