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 has suffered
Was all for sinner’s gain
Mine, mine was the transgression
But thine the cruel pain
Lo, here I fall my Saviour
Turn not from me thy face
But look on me with favour
Vouchsafe me to thy grace
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
Be near me Lord when dying
O show thy cross to me
And my last need supplying
Come Lord and set me free