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 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 Ever 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!