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 !