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.