O Sacred Head

Verse 1:
O sacred head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorn, Thine only crown;
How art Thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn;
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!

Verse 2:
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.