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- When I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And poor 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 head, 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?
- Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small:
Love so amazing, so Divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.