The Hymnal ‎#217

217. O Sacred Head, now wounded

1 O sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorn, Thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory
What bliss till now was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
I joy to call Thee mine.

2 O noblest brow and dearest,
In other days the world
All feard when Thou appearedst;
What shame on Thee is hurled!
How art Thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn;
How does that visage languish
Which once was bright as morn!

3 What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered
Was all for sinners' gain:
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thine favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

4 What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine for ever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to Thee.

5 Be near when I am dying,
O show Thy cross to me;
And for my succor flying,
Come, Lord, to set me free:
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Jesus, shall not move;
For he who dies believing,
Die safely, through Thy love.

Amen.

Text Information

• First Line: O Sacred Head, now wounded
• Translator: Rev. Paul Gerhardt (1656)
• Translator: Rev. James W. Alexander (1830)
• Author (attributed to): Bernard of Clairvaux, 1091-1153
• Publication Date: 1895

Tune Information

(No tune information)