O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
(by Bernard of Clairvaux, Paul Gerhardt, and James W. Alexander)

O Sacred Head now wounded with grief and shame weighed down; now scornfully surrounded with thorns Thine only crown; O Sacred Head what Glory what Bliss till now was Thine! Yet though despised and gory I joy to call Thee mine.

What Thou, my Lord, hath suffered was all for sinners’ gain: all mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain. Lo, here I fall my Saviour! ‘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 forever my hope eternally, Lord let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

©2005