When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My rich-est gain I count but loss,
And pour con-tempt 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 com-pose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a offering far too small;

Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all