O Sacred Head Now Wounded

Bernard of Clairvaux
Eleventh century A.D.

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

I haven't made it through even just these three stanzas without being overwhelmed. The last half of the third stanza is one of the greatest statements I think I have ever prayed in song. What an Easter statement. Christ is Risen! Χριστος ανεστι! Иисус воскрес!