1 O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down;
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, 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 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 for ever;
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to thee.
|First Line:||O sacred Head, now wounded|
|Title:||O Sacred Head, Now Wounded|
|Author:||Bernard of Clairvaux, 1091-1153|
|Translator:||Paul Gerhardt (1656)|
|Translator:||James W. Alexander (1830)|
|Topic:||Funerals; Jesus Christ: His Suffering; Christ: Love and Grace of(2 more...)|
|Composer:||Hans Leo Hassler (1601)|
|Arranger:||Johann Sebastian Bach (1729)|