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