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.

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?

Since I, who was undone and lost,

Have pardon through His name and word;

Forbid it, then, that I should boast,

Save in the cross of Christ my Lord.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

That were a tribute far too small;

Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my life, my soul, my all.