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