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 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 a tribute far too small;

Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all!