I was visiting a, a friend’s church for the evening. It was Good Friday, and I was far away from home. Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine! O sacred Head, what glory, What bliss till now was Thine! Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down, With a beautiful hymn that is sung, I think almost every Good Friday! Sing it if you know it.
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