O sacred head, sore wounded (Hans Leo Hassler)

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• (Posted 2022-01-17)  CPDL #67638:       

Editor: Andrew Sims (submitted 2022-01-17).   Score information: A4, 1 page, 52 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: The hymn with harmony and underlaid words in the version published in The Hymnal 1982.

• (Posted 2022-01-17)  CPDL #67637:       

Editor: Andrew Sims (submitted 2022-01-17).   Score information: A4, 2 pages, 134 kB   Copyright: CPDL

{{EdNotes|The hymn in the version published in The Hymnal 1982, melody with words}.}

• (Posted 2022-01-17)  CPDL #67635:       

Editor: Andrew Sims (submitted 2022-01-17).   Score information: A4, 1 page, 64 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: The hymn with harmony and underlaid words in the version published in The Hymnal 1982, arranged by Johann Sebastian Bach.

• (Posted 2022-01-17)  CPDL #67634:       

Editor: Andrew Sims (submitted 2022-01-17).   Score information: A4, 2 pages, 127 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: The hymn in the version published in The Hymnal 1982, melody with words, arranged by Johann Sebastian Bach.

General Information

Title: O sacred head, sore wounded
Composer: Hans Leo Hassler
Tune: Herzlich tut mich verlangen
Lyricist: Paul Gerhardt

Translation by Robert Bridges and James Waddell Alexander

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Sacred, Hymn   Meter: 76. 76. D

Language: English
Instruments: A cappella or keyboard

First published:
Description: 

External websites:

• https://embassysingers.de/scores/hymns.html

Original text and translations

English text

O sacred head, sore wounded,
defiled and put to scorn;
O kingly head, surrounded
with mocking crown of thorn:
what sorrow mars thy grandeur?
Can death thy bloom deflower?
O countenance whose splendor
the hosts of heaven adore!

Thy beauty, long-desirèd,
hath vanished from our sight;
thy power is all expirèd,
and quenched the light of light.
Ah me! for whom thou diest,
hide not so far thy grace:
show me, O Love most highest,
the brightness of thy face.

In thy most bitter passion
my heart to share doth cry,
with thee for my salvation
upon the cross to die.
Ah, keep my heart thus movèd
to stand thy cross beneath,
to mourn thee, well-belovèd,
yet thank thee for thy death.

What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
Oh, make me thine for ever!
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
outlive my love for thee.

My days are few, O fail not,
with thine immortal power,
to hold me that I quail not
in death’s most fearful hour;
that I may fight befriended,
and see in my last strife
to me thine arms extended
upon the cross of life.