O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

Lyrics (J.W. Alexander's version, 1830)


O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!


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 Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.


Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!


Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, Thy strength in this sad strife.


My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!


What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.


My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.


Here I will stand beside Thee, from Thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me! When breaks Thy loving heart,
When soul and body languish in death’s cold, cruel grasp,
Then, in Thy deepest anguish, Thee in mine arms I’ll clasp.


The joy can never be spoken, above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring, I’d breathe my soul to Thee.


My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish, oh, leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!


Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well

Make My Life a Prayer to You

This is a song by The Second Chapter of Acts

Make my life a prayer to You
I want to do what You want me to
No empty words and no white lies
No token prayers, no compromise

I want to shine the light You gave
Through Your Son You sent to save us
From ourselves and our despair
It comforts me to know You're really there

I want to thank You now
For being patient with me
Oh, it's so hard to see
When my eyes are on me
I guess I'll have to trust
And just believe what You say
Oh, You're coming again
Coming to take me away

I want to die and let You give
Your life to me that I might live
And share the hope You give to me
The love that set me free

I want to tell the world out there
You're not some fable or fairy tale
That I made up inside my head
You're God the Son
You've risen from the dead

I want to thank You now
For being patient with me
Oh, it's so hard to see
All that You have for me
I guess I'll have to trust
And just believe what You say
Oh, You're coming again
Coming to take me away

I want to die and let You give
Your life to me that I might live
And share the hope You gave to me
I want to share that love that set me free

The Soldier

The Soldier
By Charles M. Province

It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.
If you can read this message thank a teacher,
If you are reading it in English of your own free will THANK A SOLDIER!
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves under the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag,
who allows the protester to burn the flag.
To all the brave men and women who have dedicated or given their lives
to protecting this country and it's freedoms:
Thank you.

The Love of God

This hymn by Frederick M. Lehman has beautiful poetry, particularly this third verse.

"Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies of parchment made,
Where every stalk on earth a quill
And ev'ry man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry,
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Tho stretched from sky to sky."

Beneath the Cross of Jesus

This is a lovely hymn by Elizabeth C. Clephane.
I love this verse especially.

"Upon the cross of Jesus
Mine eye at times can see
The very dying form of One
Who suffered there for me.
And from my stricken heart with tears
Two wonders I confess,
The wonders of redeeming love
And my own worthlessness."

The One That Got Away

Fishermen often tell stories
of the one that got away.
They can recall every detail
of what it looked like, and can
even imagine how it would have tasted.
They have regrets, wondering if,
had they done even one thing differently,
they wouldn't have lost it.

You are the one I let get away.
I can still remember what you looked like.
I can even imagine how you would have tasted.
I live with regrets, wondering if,
had I done even one thing differently,
I wouldn't have lost you,
and been left to dream about
the kiss I'll never have.

Pia Thompson
Oct. 19, 2008

Poem

"Sometimes I'm surprised
To find how much
You're still with me,
How easily my mind finds you
In searching for a place to rest.
It seems that somewhere
In the months and miles
Between us,
The thought of you
Should have faded...
But no,
At the slightest reason--
Indeed,
For no reason at all--
I think of you."

Patricia D. Fosket