(Adapted from Bernard of Clairvaux’s hymn ‘O Sacred Head, Now Wounded’)
O sacred Head, now wounded—with grief and shame weighed down;
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns Your only crown.
How are You pale with anguish? With sore abuse and scorn!
How does Your visage languish that once was bright as morn!
What You, O Lord, have suffered was all for sinners’ gain:
Mine, mine the black transgression! But Yours the crimson stain!
Lo, here I fall, my Savior—why would You take my place?
Baptize me in Your favor! Wash me anew in grace!
What language can I borrow—to thank You, dearest Friend?
To try to put it into words—the script would have no end!
But I’ll be Yours forever! Through highs and lows be true—
Lord, may I never, ever outlive my love for You!