O sacred Head, now wounded,With grief and shame weighed down,Now scornfully surroundedWith thorns, Thine only crown;How pale Thou art with anguish,With sore abuse and scorn!How does that visage languishWhich once was bright as morn! What Thou, my Lord, hast sufferedWas all for sinners’ gain:Mine, mine was the transgression,But Thine the deadly pain;Lo, here I fall,…