1. 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

2. 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.

3. 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?
4. 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.