O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
«A Minor»
1. 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.
2. 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,
Vouchsafe to me thy grace.
¶
3. 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.
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With Chords
«A Minor»
1. O ‹Am›sacred ‹F›Head, now ‹G7›woun‹C›ded,
With ‹Am›grief and ‹E7›shame weighed ‹Am›down;
Now ‹Am›scornful‹F›ly surr‹G›oun‹C›ded with ‹Am›thorns, thine ‹E7›only ‹Am›crown.
O ‹G›sacred ‹F›Head, ‹G›what ‹C›glory, what ‹F›bliss till ‹Dm›now was ‹A›thine!
Yet, ‹G›though des‹C›pised and ‹Dsus›go‹D›r‹G›y, I ‹F›joy to ‹G›call thee ‹C›mine.
2. What ‹Am›thou, my ‹F›Lord, hast ‹G›suffe‹C›red
Was ‹Am›all for ‹E7›sinners' ‹Am›gain.
Mine, ‹Am›mine was ‹F›the trans‹G›gres‹C›sion,
But ‹Am›thine the ‹E7›deadly ‹Am›pain.
Lo, ‹G›here I ‹F›fall, ‹G›my ‹C›Savior!
'Tis ‹F›I des‹Dm›erve thy ‹A›place;
Look ‹G›on me ‹C›with thy ‹Dsus›fa‹D›v‹G›or,
Vouch‹F›safe to ‹G›me thy ‹C›grace.
¶
3. What ‹Am›language ‹F›shall I ‹G›borr‹C›ow
To ‹Am›thank thee, ‹E7›dearest ‹Am›Friend,
For ‹Am›this, thy ‹F›dying ‹G›sorr‹C›ow,
Thy ‹Am›pity ‹E7›without ‹Am›end?
O ‹G›make me ‹F›thine ‹G›for‹C›ever,
And ‹F›should I ‹Dm›fainting ‹A›be,
Lord, ‹G›let me ‹C›never, ‹Dsus›ne‹D›v‹G›er
Out‹F›live my ‹G›love to ‹C›thee.
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