O thorn-crowned head, the sins of all the world
Have pierced thy brow;
O gentle face, the woes of all the world
Thou bearest now!
O patient eyes, to heaven in meekness turned,
Meekness divine,
Within your suffering depths what wondrous light
Of love doth shine!
O faltering, parted lips, with anguish wrung,
Your words still live
And plead for us,—“They know not what they do—
Father, forgive!”
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