O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

1. O sac- red Head, now wound- ed, with grief and shame weighed down, Now scorn- ful- ly sur- round- ed with thorns, Thine on- ly crown; O sac- red Head, what glo- ry, what bliss till now was Thine! Yet, though des- pised and gor- y, I joy to call Thee mine.

2. What Thou, my Lord, hast suf- fered, was all for sin- ners' gain; Mine, mine was the trans- gres- sion, but Thine the dead- ly pain. Lo, here I fall, my Sa- vior! 'Tis I de- serve Thy place; Look on me with Thy fa- vor, vouch- safe to me Thy grace.

3. Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou no- ble coun- ten- ance, Though migh- ty worlds shall fear Thee and flee be- fore Thy glance. How art thou pale with an- guish, with sore a- buse and scorn! How doth Thy vis- age lan- guish that once was bright as morn!

4. Now from Thy cheeks has van- ished their co- lor once so fair; From Thy red lips is ban- ished the splen- dor that was there. Grim death, with cru- el ri- gor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life; Thus Thou hast lost Thy vi- gor, Thy strength in this sad strife.

5. My bur- den in Thy Pas- sion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me, For it was my trans- gres- sion which brought this woe on Thee. I cast me down be- fore Thee, wrath were my right- ful lot; Have mer- cy, I im- plore Thee; Re- deem- er, spurn me not!