When I survey the wondrous crossOn which the Prince of Glory diedMy richest gain I count but lossAnd pour contempt on all my pride

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boastSave 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 feetSorrow and love flow mingled downDid e're such love and sorrow meetOr thorns compose so rich a crown

Were the whole realm of nature mine,That were a present far too small.Love so amazing, so divine,Demands my soul, my life, my all.

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