O sacred head once wounded

O sacred head once wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
how scornfully surrounded
with thorns, your only crown!
How pale you are with anguish,
with fierce abuse and scorn!
How do those features languish
which once were bright as morn!

2. What bliss was yours in glory,
O Lord of life divine!
I read the amazing story:
I joy to call you mine.
Your grief and your compassion
were all for sinners’ gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but yours the deadly pain.

3. What language shall I borrow
to praise you, dearest Friend,
for this your dying sorrow,
your pity without end?
Lord, make me yours for ever!
nor let me faithless prove;
O let me never, never
refuse such dying love!

4. Be near me when I’m dying;
Lord, show your cross to me!
Your death, my hope supplying,
from death shall set me free.
These eyes, new faith receiving,
from Jesus shall not move;
whoever dies believing
dies safely in your love.