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 mingling 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 an offering far too small,
Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.
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