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Verse 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.

Verse 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.

Verse 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?

Verse 4

Were all the realms of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine.
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Verse 1

O sacred head, now wounded!
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, thine only crown;
O sacred head, what glory,
What bliss, till now, was thine!
Yet tho’ despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.

Verse 2

What thou, my Lord! hast suffered
Was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But thine the deadly pain;
Lo! here I fall, my Savior!
’Tis I deserve thy place;
Look on me with thy favor;
Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

Verse 3

The joy can ne’er be spoken,
Above all joys beside,
When in thy body broken,
I thus with safety hide;
My Lord of life! desiring
Thy glory now to see,
Beside thy cross expiring,
I’d breathe my soul to thee.