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. See, from His head, His feet,
    Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
    Did e’er such love and sorrow meet?
    Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
  3. Since I, who was undone and lost,
    Have pardon through His name and word;
    Forbid it, then, that I should boast,
    Save in the cross of Christ my Lord.
  4. Were the whole realm of nature mine,
    That were a tribute far too small;
    Love so amazing, so divine,
    Demands my life, my soul, my all.



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