O Sacred Head Now Wounded Ascribed to St. Bernard of Clairvaus (1091-1153)

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 art thou pale with anguish,

With sore abuse and scorn;

How does that visage languish,

Which once was bright as morn!

Thy grief and bitter passion

Were all for sinners’ gain;

Mine, mine was the transgression,

But thine the deadly pain.

 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 to Thee.

Be near when I am dying

O show thy Cross to me!

And, for my succor flying,

Come, Lord, to set me free.

These eyes, new faith receiving,

From Thee shall never move;

For he who dies believing

Dies safely in Thy love.

amen.