When I survey the wondrous cross 


When I survey the wondrous cross

On 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 cross 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 ever such love and sorrow meet,

On thorns compose so rich a crown?


Where 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.