O Sacred Head Amy Grant

O sacred head now wounded
With grief and shame way down
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns thine only crown
How art thou pale with anguish
With sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish
Which once was bright as morn

What language shall I borrow
To thank thee dearest man?
For this, thy dying sorrow
Thy pity without end
O make me thine forever
And should I fainting be
Lord, let me never, ever
Outlive my love to thee