O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

from by Darby Hughes

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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
that once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast 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,
assist me with 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 to Thee.


from What Language Shall I Borrow, released June 14, 2006
words by Bernard of Clairvaux
music by Hans Hassler/J.S. Bach



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Darby Hughes Woodstock, Georgia

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