When I survey the wondrous Cross
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L.M. 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 Cross 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 His dying crimson, like a robe, Spreads oe’r His body on the tree, Then am I dead to all the globe, And all the globe is dead to me. 5 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. 6 To Christ, Who won for sinners grace By bitter grief and anguish sore, Be praise from all the ransomed race Forever and forevermore. I. Watts