Oh Head of blood and wounding

O head of blood and wounding,
Of pain and scorn so full,
O Head, for spite now fettered
Beneath a crown of thorns,
O head, once fair and lovely,
With highest praise adorned,
But highly now insulted,
All hail to thee, I say!
Thou countenance so noble,
At which should shrink and quail
The mighty world's great burden,
How spat upon thou art;
How pale thou art become now!
Who hath thine eyes' bright light,
Alike no other light once,
So shamefully abused?

St. Matthew Passion
© Z. Philip Ambrose, translator

From Minnesota Public Radio