177
7s & 6s.
Surely he hath borne our griefs.
O sacred head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down—
O sacred brow, surrounded
With thorns, thine only crown:
Once on a throne of glory,
Adorned with light divine;
Now all despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.
2 On me, as thou art dying,
O, turn thy pitying eye;
To thee for mercy crying,
Before thy cross I lie.
Thine, thine the bitter passion;
Thy pain is all for me;
Mine, mine the deep transgression;
My sins are all on thee.
3 What language can I borrow
To praise thee, heavenly Friend,
For all this dying sorrow,
Of all my woes the end?
O, can I leave thee ever?
Then do not thou leave me;
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to thee.
4 Be near when I am dying;
Then close beside me stand;
Let me, while faint and sighing,
Lean calmly on thy hand:
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From thee shall never move,
For he who dies believing,
Dies safely—in thy love.
Gerhardt.