hymnal 149
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 sacrificie them to His blood
3 See, from His head, His hands, His feet, sorrow and love flowing led down;
Did ever such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?
4 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. Amen.