1.	When I survey the wondrous cross, 
	On which the Prince of glory died, 
	My richest gain I count but loss, 
	And pour contempt on all my pride. 

2.	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. 

3.	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? 

4.	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.