1. W hen I behold the wondrous cross
On which the Lord 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’d me most,
I’ d sacrifice them to His blood.185
3. By suffering there, beneath His feet
He trod the fierce Avenger down;
There, power itself and weakness meet,
Emblems of each yon thorny crown!
4. Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an off’ring far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.