When I survey the wondrous cross
Oh which the Prince of glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood
See from his dead, his hands,
his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Where the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small,
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my fire, my all.

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