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THE DYING SAVIOUR, by                    
First Line: "o sacred head, now wounded"
Last Line: Dies safely in thy love!
Subject(s): Jesus Christ

O sacred Head! now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thy only crown.
O sacred Head! what glory,
What bliss, till now, was Thine!
Yet though despised and gory,
I joy to call Thee mine.

O noblest brow, and dearest!
In other days the world
All feared when Thou appearedst:
What shame on Thee is hurled!
How art Thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn;
How does that vision languish,
Which once was bright as morn!

The blushes late residing
Upon that holy cheek,
The roses once abiding
Upon those lips so meek,
Alas! they have departed;
Wan Death has rifled all!
For weak and brokenhearted,
I see Thy body fall.

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 favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Receive me, my Redeemer:
My Shepherd, make me Thine;
Of every good the fountain,
Thou art the spring of mine.
Thy lips with love distilling,
And milk of truth sincere,
With heaven's bliss are filling
The soul that trembles here.

Beside Thee, Lord, I've taken
My place--forbid it not!
Hence will I ne'er be shaken,
Though Thou to death be brought.
If pain's last paleness hold Thee
In agony opprest,
Then, then will I enfold Thee
Within this arm and breast!

The joy can ne'er be spoken,
Above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken
I thus with safety hide.
My Lord of life, desiring
Thy glory now to see,
Beside the cross expiring,
I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

What language can I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end!
Oh make me Thine forever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to Thee!

And when I am departing,
O part not Thou from me!
When mortal pangs are darting,
Come, Lord, and set me free!
And when my heart must languish
Amidst the final throe,
Release me from mine anguish
By Thine own pain and woe!

Be near me when I'm dying,
O show Thy cross to me,
And for my succor flying,
Come, Lord, and set me free!
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Jesus shall not move;
For he who dies believing
Dies safely in Thy love!

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