Maskil > Songs > O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Intro

Verse 1

O s

acred Head, now w

ounde

With g

rief and sha

me weighed

down,

w scornfully su

rrounde

With t

horns, Thin

e only cro

wn.

O s

acred H

ead, what g

lory,

What b

liss till now was T

hine!

Yet, t

hough

despised and

gory

I jo

y to c

all Thee m

ine.

Verse 2

hat Thou, my Lord, hast

suffere

Was a

ll for sin

ners' g

ain;

sin was the tran

sgress

ion,

But T

hine the d

eadly p

ain:

Lo, h

ere I f

all, my S

avior!

'Tis

I deserve Thy p

lace;

Look

on me

with Thy

favo

Vou

chsafe

to me Thy g

race.

Verse 3

The

joy can never be

spoke

abo

ve all j

oys be

side,

en in Thy body

broke

I thu

s with s

afety hi

de.

O L

ord of L

ife, desi

ring

Thy

glory now to s

ee,

side Thy

cross

expiring

I’d b

reathe my

soul to T

hee

{title: O Sacred Head, Now Wounded}

{comment: Intro}
[Am]

{comment: Verse 1}
O s[F]acred Head, now w[G]ounde[C]d,
With g[Am]rief and sha[E]me weighed [Am]down,
No[F]w scornfully su[G]rrounde[C]d
With t[Am]horns, Thin[E]e only cro[Am]wn.
O s[G]acred H[F]ead, what g[C]lory,        
What b[F]liss till now was T[Am]hine!
Yet, t[G]hough [C]despised and [D]gory[G],
I jo[F]y to c[G]all Thee m[Am]ine.

{comment: Verse 2}
W[F]hat Thou, my Lord, hast [G]suffere[C]d,
Was a[Am]ll for sin[E]ners' g[Am]ain;
My [F]sin was the tran[G]sgress[C]ion,
But T[Am]hine the d[E]eadly p[Am]ain:
Lo, h[G]ere I f[F]all, my S[C]avior!           
'Tis [F]I deserve Thy p[Am]lace;
Look[G] on me[C] with Thy[D] favo[G]r,
Vou[F]chsafe [G]to me Thy g[Am]race.

{comment: Verse 3}
The[F] joy can never be [G]spoke[C]n, 
abo[Am]ve all j[E]oys be[Am]side,
Wh[F]en in Thy body [G]broke[C]n 
I thu[Am]s with s[E]afety hi[Am]de.
O L[G]ord of L[F]ife, desi[C]ring           
Thy[F] glory now to s[Am]ee,
Be[G]side Thy[C] cross [D]expiring[G], 
I’d b[F]reathe my[G] soul to T[Am]hee

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.

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain;
My sin 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,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

The joy can never 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