The wondrous cross

 

When I survey the woundrous cross,

On which the Prince of glory died

My richest gain I count but loss

And pure 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.

 

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

 

----Isaac Watts----