To The Countenance of the Lord Jesus

Oh! bleeding head, and wounded,
And full of pain and scorn,
In mockery surrounded
With cruel crown of thorn!
Oh Head! before adornèd
With grace and majesty,
Insulted now and scornèd,
All hail I bid to Thee!

They spit upon and jeer Thee,
Thou noble countenance!
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee,
And flee before Thy glance.
How hath Thy colour faded,
The light too of Thine eye!
Say who to pale hath made it?
None shone so brilliantly.

Now from Thy cheeks is vanish’d
Their colour once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banish’d
The splendour that was there.
Death’s might hath all things taken,
Hath robb’d Thee ruthlessly;
Thy frame, of strength forsaken,
Doth hence in weakness lie.

O Lord! it was my burden
That brought this woe on Thee,
I earn’d it—for my pardon
It has been borne by Thee.
A child of wrath, look on me,
Turn not away Thy face;
O Saviour! deign to own me,
And smile on me in grace.

My Guardian, now confess me,
My Shepherd, me receive!
Thou evermore dost bless me,
All good things dost Thou give.
Thy mouth hath often given
Me milk and sweetest food.
And many a taste of Heaven
Thy Spirit hath bestow’d.

Oh! do not, Lord, deride me,
I will not hence depart,
Here will I stand beside Thee,
When breaks Thine anguish’d heart;
When on Thy breast is sinking
In death’s last fatal grasp
Thy head, e’en then unshrinking
Thee in mine arms I’ll clasp.

Nought ever so much blesses,
So much rejoices me,
As when in Thy distresses
I share a part with Thee.
My Life, ah! were it ever
Vouchsaf’d me on Thy cross
My soul up to deliver,
How blessèd were my loss!

Thanks from my heart I offer
Thee, Jesus, dearest Friend,
For all that Thou didst suffer,
My good didst Thou intend.
Ah! grant that I may ever
To Thy truth faithful be,
And in the last death-shiver
May I be found in Thee.

When hence I must betake me,
And death at last must meet,
Lord, do not then forsake me,
Thy child with welcome greet.
When terror has bereft me,
Of heart and hope, again,
Lord! from my woe uplift me,
In virtue of Thy pain.

Be Thou my consolation
When death o’ertaketh me;
May Thy death-tribulation
Before mine eyes then be!
I’ll on Thee, fondly gazing,
Fix my believing eyes,
While firmly Thee embracing,—
He dies well who so dies.

– Paul Gerhardt, Spiritual Songs