O sacred head, surrounded by crown
of piercing thorn, O bleeding head,
so wounded, reviled and put to scorn.
The power of death comes over you,
the glow of life decays, yet angel hosts
adore you, and tremble as they gaze.
In this, your bitter passion, Good Shepherd,
think of me, with your most kind compassion,
unworthy though I be: beneath your cross
abiding, forever would I rest, in your dear love
confiding, and with your presence blest.
What language shall I borrow to thank you,
dearest friend, for this, your dying sorrow,
your mercy without end? Lord, make me yours
forever, a loyal servant true, and let me never,
never outlive my love for you.
