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 sacri - fice 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 of - - - fering far too small;
Love so a ? maz - ing, so div - ine,
Demands my soul, demands my soul,
Love demands my soul, my life, my all.