O sacred Head now wounded
with grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns Thine only crown
How pale Thou art with anguish with sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish which once was bright as morn
What Thou my Lord hast suffered was all for sinners gain
Mine mine was the transgression but Thine the deadly pain
Lo here I fall my Savior Tis I deserve Thy place
Look on me with Thy favor assist me with Thy grace
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
Paul Gerhardt
Hans Leo Hassler
