| A hymn written by Isaac Watts | |
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(1) When I survey the wondrous crossOn 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 death of Christ my God, All the vain things that charm me most I sacrifice them to His blood. |
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(3) See from His head, His hands, His feet,Sorrow and love flow mingling down Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown? |
(4) His dying crimson, like a robe,Spreads o'er His body on the tree; Then am I dead to all the globe, And all the globe is dead to me. |
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(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, may all! |
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