1. O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!
2. 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 thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.
3. 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 for thee.
|First Line:||O sacred Head, now wounded|
|Title:||O Sacred Head, Now Wounded|
|Translator:||James W. Alexander (1830)|
|Translator:||Paul Gerhardt (1656)|
|Topic:||Christ's Gracious Life: Passion and Death; Christian Year: Lent; Christian Year: Holy Week(5 more...)|
|Harmonizer:||J. S. Bach (1729, alt.)|
|Composer:||Hans L. Hassler (1601)|