O Head, once full of bruises,
So full of pain and scorn
‘Mid other sore abuses,
Mocked with a crown of thorn!
O Head even now surrounded
With brightest majesty
In death once bowed and wounded
On the accursed tree!

Thou Countenance transcendent!
Thou life creating Sun
To worlds on Thee dependent
Yet bruised and spit upon!
O Lord, what Thee tormented
Was our sin’s heavy load;
We had the debt augmented
Which Thou didst pay in blood.

We give Thee thanks unfeigned,
O Saviour, Friend in need,
For what Thy soul sustained
When Thou for us didst bleed!
Grant us to lean unshaken
Upon Thy faithfulness,
Until, to glory taken,
We see Thee face to face.