MySongbooksO SACRED HEAD
O sacred head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, thine only crown;
Now art thou pale with anguish.
With sore abuse and scorn;
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn.
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.
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