O Sacred Head Now Wounded
by Bernard of Clairveaux, Hans Leo Hassler, James W. Alexander, Paul Gerhardt
O sa - cred head, now wou - ound - ed,
With grief and shame weighed down;
Now scorn - ful - ly sur - rou - ound-ed
With thorns, Thine on - ly crown;
How art Thou pale with an - guish,
With sore a - buse and scorn;
How does that vis -age la-an -guish,
Which once was bright as morn!
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,
Vouch-safe to me Thy grace.
What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine for ever;
And, should I fainting be,
Lord,let me never, never
Outlive my love for Thee.
CCLI Song No. 108303