1. O H ead! so full of bruises,
So full of pain and scorn,
’Midst other sore abuses
Mock’d with a crown of tho rn;
O Head! e’en now surrounded
With brightest majesty,
In death once bow’d and wounded,
Accursed on the tree.
2. Thou Countenance transcendent!
Thou life-creating Sun
To worlds on Thee dependent,
Yet bruis’d and spit upon.
O Lord! what Thee tormented
Was our sin’s heavy load,
We had the debt augmented,
Which Thou didst pay in blood.
3. When sealing our election
Thy heart did break in woe,
With shame and love’s affection,
That men should treat Thee so;
We know Thy love’s strong fervour
By all Thy pain and grief;
Then hear us, Great Preserver,
And worship now receive.