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.

How pale Thou art with anguish,
    With sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy face now languish
    That once was bright as morn!
Grim death, with cruel rigor,
    Hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor,
    Thy strength, in this sad strife.

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,
    And grant to me Thy grace.

My Shepherd, now receive me;
    My Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me,
    O Source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me
    With words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me
    To heav’nly joys above.

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.

My Savior, be Thou near me
    When death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me,
    Forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish,
    O leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish
    By virtue of Thine own!

Be Thou my consolation,
    My shield, when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion
    When my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee,
    Upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfold Thee.
    Who dieth thus dies well.