O Sacred Head

O sacred head! now wounded,

Be near me when I am dying,

What language shall I borrow

What thou, my Lord, hast suffered,

O noblest brow, and dearest!

In other days the world

To thank thee, dearest Friend,

Oh! show thy cross to me;

Was all for sinners’ gain:

With grief and shame weighed down,

All feared, when thou appeared’st,

And for my succor flying,

Now scornfully surrounded

For this, thy dying sorrow,

Mine, mine was the transgression,

But thine the deadly pain.

Come, Lord, and set me free!

With thorns, thy only crown;

What shame on thee is hurled!

Thy pity without end?

Lo! here I fall, my Saviour,

O sacred Head! what glory,

How art thou pale with anguish,

Oh! make me thine forever,

These eyes new faith receiving.

’Tis I deserve thy place;

And should I fainting be,

With sore abuse and scorn;

What bliss, till now was thine!

From Jesus shall not move,

Look on me with thy favor,

Yet, though despised and gory,

How does that visage languish,

For he who dies believing,

Lord let me never, never

Dies safely through thy love.

Outlive my love to thee.

I joy to call thee mine.

Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

Which once was bright as morn.