Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.
—Isaiah 53:4–5
167 O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
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;
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.
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.
Be near when I am dying, O show Thy cross to me,
Lord, on Thy help relying, Come Thou and set me free;
These eyes, new faith receiving, From Jesus shall not move,
For he who dies believing, Dies safely through Thy love.
—The Concordia Hymnal (Augsburg Publishing House), 1960.
Fernando Ortega
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