Pwy yw Hwn yn Ŵr gofidus?

Pwy yw Hwn, yn Ŵr gofidus,
  Prudd-der ar ei ŵyneb-pryd;
Blin, digartref, trist, yn wylo
  Dros bechodau euog fyd?
Hwn yw'r Iôr, ein hoff Waredwr
  Yn y paradwysaidd dir,
Sy'n par'toi trigfannau lawer,
  Lle nad oes ond gwynfyd pur.

Pwy yw Hwn, a'i waed yn syrthio
  Yn ddefnynnau ar y llawr;
A ddirmygwyd, a wrthodwyd,
  Driniwyd fel troseddwr mawr?
Hwn yw'r Iôr sy'n tywallt beunydd
  Ar ei blant bob braint a gras,
Yn ei ddwyfol rym gorchfygol
  Sydd yn drech na'r gelyn cas.

Pwy yw Hwn, mewn gwawd yn trengi
  Ar y groes dan goron ddrain;
A gyfrifwyd gyda'r anwir,
  Wanwyd gan y bicell fain?
Hwn yw'r Iôr sy'n byth yn trigo
  Gyda'r disglair engyl lu,
Sy'n teyrnasu yn oes oesoedd
  Yn y ddinas euraid fry.

gwelir: Pwy yw Hwn yn Methl'em aned?

Who is this, a sorrowful man,
  Sadness on his countenance;
Weary, homeless, sad, weeping
  For sinners of a guilty world?
He is the Lord, our dear Deliverer
  In the paradaisiacal land,
Who is preparing many dwellings,
  Where there is only pure bliss.

Who is this, with his blood falling
  In drops on the ground;
And scorned, and rejected,
  Treated like a great transgressor?
He is the Lord, who is pouring out daily
  On his children every privilege and grace,
In his overcoming, divine force
  Which is more powerful than the hated enemy.

Who is this, in mockery dying
  On the cross under a crown of thorns;
Who was counted with the false,
  Weakened by the sharp spear?
He is the Lord who is ever dwelling
  With the shining angel host,
Who is reigning forever and ever
  In the golden city above.

Who is this, a man of sorrows,
  Walking sadly life's hard way,
Homeless, weary, sighing, weeping,
  Over sin and Satan's sway?
'Tis our God, our glorious Saviour,
  Who above the starry sky
Now for us a place prepareth,
  Where no tear can dim the eye.

Who is this? Behold Him shedding
  Drops of blood upon the ground!
Who is this, despised, rejected,
  Mocked, insulted, beaten, bound?
'Tis our God, who gifts and graces
  On His church now poureth down;
Who shall smite in righteous judgment
  All His foes beneath His throne.

Who is this that hangeth dying
  While the rude world scoffs and scorns,
Numbered with the malefactors,
  Torn with nails, and crowned with thorns?
'Tis the God who ever liveth,
  'Mid the shining ones on high,
In the glorious golden city,
  Reigning everlastingly.

from: Who is this so weak and helpless?