O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Verse 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.

Verse 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.

Verse 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.

Verse 4:

My Savior, be near me When death is at my door; Then let Thy presence cheer me, Forsake me nevermore! When soul and body languish, O leave me not alone, But take away mine anguish By virtue of Thine own.