O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
Author Unknown

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O sacred head, now wounded, 
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with grief and shame weighed down
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Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, thine only crown
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How pale thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn
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How does that visage languish which once was bright as morn

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What thou, my Lord hast suffered, was all for sinner’s gain
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Mine, mine was the transgression, but thine the deadly pain
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Lo here I fall, my Savior! Tis I deserve thy place
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Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace

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What language shall I borrow to thank thee dearest friend
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For this thy  dying sorrow, thy pity without end?
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O make me thine forever, and should I fainting be
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Look, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee