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 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 ♪ 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? 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