| O sacred Head, now wounded
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| With grief and shame weighed down
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| Now scornfully surrounded
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| With thorns, Thine only crown
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| How pale thou art with anguish
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| With sore abuse and scorn
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| How does that visage languish
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| Which once was bright as morn
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| What thou my Lord has suffered
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| Was all for sinner’s gain
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| Mine, mine was the transgression
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| But thine the cruel pain
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| Lo, here I fall my Saviour
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| Turn not from me thy face
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| But look on me with favour
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| Vouchsafe me to thy grace
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| What language shall I borrow
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| To thank thee dearest friend
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| For this thy dying sorrow
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| Thy pity without end
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| O make me thine forever
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| And should I fainting be
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| Lord let me never, never
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| Outlive my love for thee
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| Be near me Lord when dying
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| O show thy cross to me
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| And my last need supplying
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| Come Lord and set me free |