When I Survey the Wondrous Cross-uccpako

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.

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 the 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?

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.