1. When I sur- vey the won- drous cross On which the Prince of Glo- ry died, My rich-est gain I count but loss, And pour con- tempt on all my pride.

2. For- bid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm me most, I sac- ri- fice them to His blood.

3. See from His head, His hands, His feet, Sor- row and love flow min- gled down! Did e'er such love and sor- row meet, Or thorns com- pose so rich a crown?

4. His dy- ing crim- son, like a robe, Spreads o'er His bo- dy on the tree; Then I am dead to all the globe, And all the globe is dead to me.

5. Were the whole realm of na- ture mine, That were a pre- sent far too small; Love so a- ma- zing, so di- vine, De- mands my soul, my life, my all.