WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS

Isaac Watts

When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died

My richest gain I count but lost, and pour contempt on all my pride

 

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?

 

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