Good Friday

        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, has 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.

            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 for thee.

 Text: Anonymous; trans. by Paul Gerhardt and James W. Alexander
Music: Hans L. Hassler, 1564-1612; harm. by J.S. Bach, 1685-1750

Good Friday: The day of Jesus’ crucifixion, death and burial. A time of solemnity and reflection. A time to ponder all that we’ve observed this Holy Week and to remember all that He did, He did for us out of His unconditional love for us.