O Sacred Head Now Wounded

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

What thou, my Lord, hast suffered

Was all for sinners' gain

Oh 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

What language shall I borrow

To thank thee, dearest Friend

For this, thy dying sorrow

Thy pity without end?

Oh, make me thine forever

And should I fainting be

Lord, let me never, never

Outlive my love to thee