O Sacred Head once wounded
O Sacred Head once wounded.
With grief and pain laid down,
How scornfully surrounded
With thorns, thine only crown
How pale art thou with anguish
With sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish
Which once was bright as morn.
O Lord of life and glory,
What bliss till now was Thine.
I read the wondrous story,
I joy to call Thee mine.
Thy grief and thy compassion
Were all for sinners’ gain,
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But thine the deadly pain.
What language shall I borrow,
To praise Thee, heavenly Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end.
Lord, make me Thine for ever.
Nor let me faithless prove,
O let me never, never
Abuse such dying love.
Be near me, Lord, when dying,
O show Thyself to me
And for my succour flying,
Come, Lord to set me free:
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Jesus shall not move,
For he who dies believing
Dies safely through Thy love.