When I survey the wonderous 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 the 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.
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 the 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.
By Isaac Watts
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