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.