Oh sacred head, now wounded, With grief and shame bowed down; Oh sacred brow, surrounded With thorns, Thine only crown. Once on a throne of glory Adorned with light divine, Now all despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine. On me, as Thou art dying, Oh turn Thy pitying eye; To Thee for mercy crying, Before Thy cross I lie. Thine, Thine a bitter passion, Thy pain is all for me; Mine, mine the deep transgression, My sins are all on Thee. What language can I borrow To thank Thee, dearest friend, For all this dying sorrow, Of all my woes the end? Oh, can I leave Thee ever? Then do not Thou leave me; Lord, let me never, never Outlive my love to Thee.