12 Now, with Jesus ever reigning, Where the ransomed home are gaining, Bathing in the endless light. All the heavenly ones are meeting! Brothers, sisters—let us, greeting, Claim them ours, by kindred right. 13 Jesus! toward that height of heaven May a prospect clear be given, Till the parting hour shall come. Then, from pangs emerging brightly, May we all be wafted lightly By angelic convoy home! “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden.” A Passion Hymn by Paul Gerhardt. 1 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. 2 O noblest brow, and dearest! In other days the world All feared, when thou appeared’st, What shame on thee is hurled! How art thou pale with anguish, With sore abuse and scorn; How does that visage languish, Which once was bright as morn. 3 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 broken-hearted, I see thy body fall. 4 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. 5 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. 6 Beside thee, Lord, I’ve taken My place—forbid me 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! 7 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. 8 What language shall 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. 9 And when I am departing, Oh! 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 wo!