O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
Bernard of Clairvaux
O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns Your only crown,
O sacred Head, no glory now from Your face does shine;
Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call You mine.
Men mock and taunt and jeer You. They smite Your countenance.
Though mighty worlds shall fear You, and flee before Your glance.
How pale You are with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
Your eyes with pain now languish that once were bright as morn!
My burden in Your passion, Lord, You have borne for me,
For it was my transgression, my shame, on Calvary.
I cast me down before you; wrath is my rightful lot.
Have mercy, I implore You; Redeemer, spurn me not!
What language shall I borrow to thank You, dearest Friend,
For this, Your dying sorrow, Your pity without end?
Oh, make me Yours forever, and keep me strong and true;
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for You.
’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
And to take Him at His Word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
And to know, “Thus says the Lord!”
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!
O how sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to trust His cleansing blood;
And in simple faith to plunge me
’Neath the healing, cleansing flood!
Yes, ’tis sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just from sin and self to cease;
Just from Jesus simply taking
Life and rest, and joy and peace.
I’m so glad I learned to trust Thee,
Precious Jesus, Savior, Friend;
And I know that Thou art with me,
Wilt be with me to the end.