O SACRED HEAD, NOW WOUNDED
1. O sacred Head,
now wounded,
With grief and
shame weighed down,
Now scornfully
surrounded
With thorns, Thine
only crown:
O sacred Head, what
glory,
What bliss till now
was Thine!
Yet, though
despised and gory,
I joy to call Thee
mine.
2. What Thou, my
Lord, hast 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 to Thee.
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