O sacred head, surrounded by crown of piercing thorn! O bleeding head, so wounded, so shamed and put to scorn! Death's pallid hue comes o'er thee, the glow of life decays; yet angel-hosts adore thee, and tremble as they gaze. Thy comeliness and vigour is withered up and gone, and in thy wasted figure I see death drawing on. O agony and dying! O love to sinners free! Jesu, all grace supplying, turn thou thy face on me. In this thy bitter passion, good Shepherd, think of me with thy most sweet compassion, unworthy though I be: beneath thy Cross abiding for ever would I rest, in thy dear love confiding, and with thy presence blest.
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