Memorial

1O sacred Head, once wounded, With grief and shame weighed down; Once scornfully surrounded With thorns, thine only crown;

2What 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 Saviour!
'Tis I deserve thy place;
Look on me with thy favour, Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

3What language shall I borrow To thank thee, dearest Friend,
For this, thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O, make me thine forever; Nor let me faithless prove;
O, let me never, never Abuse such dying love!