First Line: O sacred Head once wounded,

O sacred Head once wounded,
With grief and pain weighed down ,
How scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thine only crown !
How art Thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn !
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn.

2 O sacred Head, what glory,
What bliss till now was Thine !
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call Thee mine:
Thy grief and Thy compassion
Were all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.

3 What language shall I borrow,
To praise Thee, heavenly Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end ?
Lord, make me Thine for ever,
Nor let me faithless prove;
Oh, let me never, never
Abuse such dying love !