O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

O sacred Head, now wounded
With grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thy only crown

How art thou pale with anguish
With sore abuse and scorn
How doth Thy visage languish
That once was bright as morn

What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend
For this, Thy dying sorrow
Thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine forever
And should I fainting be
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love for Thee