When they had twisted a crown of thorns, they put it on His head, and a reed in His right hand. And they bowed the knee before Him and mocked Him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” Then they spat on Him, and took the reed and struck Him on the head. (Matthew 27:29-30)
The text of this deeply moving hymn is thought to have its roots in twelfth-century monastic life. It is taken from a lengthy, medieval poem (Rhythmica Oratio) in seven parts, with each part addressing various members of Christ’s body as He suffered on the cross: His feet, knees, hands, side, breast, heart, and face. This specific hymn text is from the seventh portion of the poem.
The German translation first appeared in 1656 in the German hymnal, Praxis Pietatis Melica. Here it was titled, “O Haupt voll Blut Wunden” (“To the Suffering Face of Jesus Christ”). It first appeared in English in 1830, in the hymnal, The Christian Lyre.
The tune, “Passion Chorale,” was originally a German love song (“My Heart is Distracted by a Gentle Maid”) by Hans Leo Hassler, published in 1601. The harmonization of this tune is by the German master composer, Johann Sebastian Bach, undoubtedly one of the greatest church musicians to have ever lived. Bach was not only a superb musician, but also a devout Christian who insisted that “the aim and final reason of all music should be nothing else but the glory of God.” Many of Bach’s compositions began with the inscription, “Jesus, help me!” and at their close, “To God alone be the praise.” It would appear that Bach was especially fond of this melody, since he used it five times throughout his well-known St. Matthew Passion.
“This classic hymn has shown in three tongues—Latin, German, and English—with equal effect, the dying love of our Savior and our boundless indebtedness to Him.” (Philip Schaff)
O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown!
O sacred Head, what splendor, what bliss till now was Thine!
Yet, though despised, I render Thy praise and call Thee mine.
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 Saviour! ‘Tis I deserve Thy place.
Look on me with Thy favour, vouch-safe 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.
Be near when I am dying, O show Thy cross to me,
And for my rescue, flying, come, Lord, and set me free!
These eyes, new faith receiving, will rest on Thee above,
For all who die believing, die safely, through Thy love.