O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Attr. to Bernard of Clairvaux
Eng. trans. by James W. Alexander

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down;
Now 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!

O Lord of life and glory, what bliss till now was Thine!
I read the wondrous story; I joy to call Thee mine.
What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever; and, should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

Be near when I am dying, O show Thy cross to me;
And for my succour flying, come Lord, to set me free;
These eyes, new faith receiving, from Thee shall not remove,
For he who dies believing dies safely thro' Thy love.