When I Survey The Wondrous Cross by dukejazzy
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. Amen. See, from His head, His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love mingled down: Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown? Were the whole realm of natture mine, That were a presfar too small; Love so amazing, so Demands my life, my soul, my all.