O sacred head, now wounded

by Bernard of Clairvaux (1091–1153) · translated by Paul Gerhardt (1607–1676) · translated by James W. Alexander (1804–1859)

Representative text

As printed in The Seventh-day Adventist Hymnal (1985), no. 156.

Verse 1

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.

Verse 2

What thou, my Lord, has suffered Was all for sinners’ gain; Mine, mine was the transgression, But thine the deadly pain. Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve thy place; Look on me with thy favor, Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

Verse 3

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.