O Sacred Head

O sacred Head now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down

Now scornfully surrounded, with thorns Thine only crown

How art Thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn

How dost that visage languish which once was bright as mornWhat language shall I borrow to thank Thee dearest friend

For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?

Or, make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be

Lord let me never, never outlive my love to Thee