95 O Head once full of bruises, 1. O Head once full of bruises, So full of pain and scorn, Mid other sore abuses, Mocked with a crown of thorn: O Head e'en now surrounded With brightest majesty, In death once bowed and wounded On the accurs奷 tree: 2. Thou Countenance transcendent! Thou life-creating Sun! To worlds on Thee dependent- Yet bruised and spit upon: O Lord, what Thee tormented Was our sins' heavy load, We had the debt augmented Which Thou didst pay in blood. 3. We give Thee thanks unfeigned, O Savior, Friend in need, For what Thy soul sustained When Thou for us didst bleed. Grant us to lean unshaken Upon Thy faithfulness, Until, to glory taken, We see Thee face to face.