When I survey the wond'rous 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 an off'ring far too small:
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all
Demands my soul, my life, me all.
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