Lenten Words | Wounded

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.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee,

Thou noble countenance,

Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee

And flee before Thy glance.

How art thou pale with anguish,

With sore abuse and scorn!

How doth Thy visage languish

That once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished

Their color, once so fair;

From Thy red lips is banished

The splendor that was there.

Grim Death, with cruel rigor,

Hath robbed Thee of Thy life;

Thus Thou has lost Thy vigor,

Thy strength, in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy Passion,

Lord, Thou hast borne for me,

For it was my transgression

Which brought this woe on thee.

I cast me down before Thee,

Wrath were my rightful lot;

Have mercy, I implore Thee;

Redeemer, spurn me not!

The joy can ne'er be spoken,

Above all joys beside,

When in Thy body broken

I thus with safety hide.

O Lord of life, desiring

Thy glory now to see,

Beside Thy cross expiring,

I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

What language shall I borrow

To thank Thee, dearest Friend,

For this, Thy dying sorrow,

Thy pity without end?

Oh, make me thine forever!

And should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never,

Outlive my love for Thee.

Paul Gerhardt