Safai'r fam dan ddwys ofidio

Safai'r fam,
    dan ddwys ofidio,
Wrth y groes, a'i dagrau'n llifo,
  Am ei Mab o dan ei glwy';
Trwy ei chalon drist, anniddan,
Aethai cleddyf miniog weithian,
  Ni fu gofid neb yn fwy.

O mor drom yw calon ysig
Mair y Forwyn fendigedig,
  A Mam unig Fab y Tad;
Safai yno yn ei galar,
Yn ei weld yn marw'n gynnar,
  O dan wawd a sen a brad.

Pwy nid wylai'n lli wrth weled
Mair ei fam, a'i chalon drymed
  Yn ei llethu hi i'r llawr?
Pwy a baid â chofio gofid
Y fendigaid fam a'i hadfyd,
  Am ei Mab yn marw yn awr?

Gweled Iesu'n rhoi ei fywyd, -
Pridwerth dros bechodau'r hollfyd -
  Dan ei lesion
      ar y pren;
Gweled mae ei Mab cariadus
Ar y groes, y Gŵr gofidus,
  Yno'n gwyro'i sanctaidd ben.

Iesu, boed dy groes yn noddfa,
Cadw ni drwy Iawn Calfaria,
  Trwy yr aberth ar y pren;
Pan ddaw'r adeg i noswylio
Dyro di i'r enaid groeso
  I baradwys hwnt i'r llen.

The mother was standing,
    under intense grieving,
By the cross, with here tears flowing,
  About her Son under his wound;
Through her sad, disconsolate heart,
Would go a sharp sword henceforth,
  No-one's grief was greater.

O how heavy is the wounded heart
Of the blessed Virgin Mary,
  And Mother of the Father's only Son;
She would stand there in her mourning,
Seeing him die early,
  Under scorn and abuse and treachery.

Who would not weep a flood on seeing
Mary his mother, with here heart so heavy
  Overcoming her to the ground?
Who shall not remember the grief
Of the blessed mother and her adversity,
  Over her Son dying now?

She sees Jesus giving his life, -
A ransom for the sins of the whole world -
  Under his throes
      on the tree;
Seeing that her loving Son
On the cross, the Man of sorrows,
  Is bowing there his sacred head.

Jesus, may thy cross be a refuge,
Keep us through the Ransom of Calvary,
  Through the sacrifice on the tree;
When the time comes for night to fall
Grant thou to the soul a welcome
  To paradise beyond the curtain.

At the cross,
    her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
  Where He hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul of joy bereavèd,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
  Felt the sharp and piercing sword.

Oh, how sad and sore distressèd
Now was she, that mother blessèd
  Of the sole begotten One;
Deep the woe of her affliction,
When she saw the crucifixion
  Of her ever glorious Son.

Who, on Christ's dear mother gazing
Pierced by anguish so amazing
  Born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ's dear mother thinking
Such a cup of sorrow drinking
  Would not share her sorrows deep?

For His people's sins chastisèd,
She beheld her Son despisèd,
  Scourged, and crowned
      with thorns entwined;
Saw Him then from judgment taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
  Till His Spirit He resigned.

Jesu, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
  Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart fresh ardour gaining,
And a purer love attaining,
  May with Thee acceptance find.