O Sacred Head Now Wounded - Brian Doerksen

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