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 death 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.

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