1 When I survey the wond'rous Cross
On which the Prince of Glory dy'd,
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 His dying Crimson, like a Robe,
Spreads o'er his Body on the Tree!
Then am I dead to all the Globe,
And all the Globe is dead to me.
5 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.
|First Line:||When I survey the wond'rous Cross|