O sacred Head, now wounded

DmO sacred Head, now wounded,
Cwith grief and shame weighed down,
Bbnow scornfully surrounded
Awith thorns, Thine only crown;
DmO sacred Head, what glory,
Cwhat bliss, till now was Thine!
BbYet, though despised and gory,
AI joy to call Thee mine.

DmWhat Thou, my Lord, hast suffered
Cwas all for sinners' gain;
Bbmine, mine was the transgression,
Abut Thine the deadly pain.
DmLo, here I fall, my Saviour!
C'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Bblook on me with Thy favor,
Avouchsafe to me Thy grace.

DmWhat language shall I borrow
Cto thank Thee, dearest Friend,
Bbfor this Thy dying sorrow,
AThy pity without end?
DmO make me Thine forever;
Cand should I fainting be,
BbLord, let me never, never
Aoutlive my love to Thee.