O sacred Head, once wounded
1
O sacred Head, once wounded,With grief and shame weighed down;Once scornfully surroundedWith thorns, thine only crown;O sacred Head, what glory,What bliss, till then 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 Saviour!'T is I deserved thy place;Look on me with thy favor,Vouchsafe to me thy grace.
3
What language shall I borrowTo thank thee dearest Friend,For this, thy dying sorrow,Thy pity without end?Lord, make me thine forever,Nor let me faithless prove;O, let me never, neverAbuse such dying love!