When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

When I survey the wondrous crossOn which the Prince of Glory died,My richest gain I count but lossAnd pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boastSave 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 meetOr 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.