Oh Sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded, 
With thorns, Thine only crown;
Oh sacred Head, what glory
What bliss 'til 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;
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 me to thy grace.

-Bernard of Clairvaux