Bernard of Clairvaux

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