When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My rich-est gain I count but loss, And pour con-tempt 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. See from His head,His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns com-pose so rich a crown? Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a offering far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all. Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all