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; How pale Thou art with anguish, With sore abuse and scorn! How does that visage languish, Which once was bright as morn! 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 to Thee. Verse 4 My Shepherd, now receive me; My Guardian, own me Thine. Great blessings Thou didst give me, O Source of gifts divine. Thy lips have often fed me With words of truth and love; Thy Spirit oft hath led me To heavenly joys above. Verse 5 My Savior, be Thou near me When death is at my door; Then let Thy presence cheer me, Forsake me nevermore! When soul and body languish, Oh, leave me not alone, But take away mine anguish By virtue of Thine own.