O Sacred Head Now Wounded

O sacred Head

now wounded

with grief and shame weighed down

now scornfully surrounded

with thorns

thine only crown:

how pale thou art with anguish

with sore abuse and scorn!

How does that visage languish

which once was bright as morn!

2.What thou

my Lord

has suffered

was all for sinners' gain;

mine

mine was the transgression

but thine the deadly pain.

Lo

here I fall

my Savior!

'Tis I deserve thy place;

look on me with thy favor

vouchsafe to me thy grace.

3.What language shall I borrow

to thank thee

dearest friend

for this thy dying sorrow

thy pity without end?

O make me thine forever;

and should I fainting be

Lord

let me never

never

outlive my love for thee.