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,
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
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a
present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
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