1 O sacred head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, your only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory,
And blessing you have known.
Yet, though despised and gory
I claim you as my own.
2 My Lord, what you did suffer
Was all for sinners' gain:
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But yours the deadly pain.
So here I kneel, my Savior,
for I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with your favor,
and save me by your grace.
3 What language shall I borrow
To thank you, dearest friend,
For this your dying sorrow,
your mercy without end?
Lord make me yours forever;
a loyal servant true,
and let me never, never
Outlive my love to you.
