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. 2.See, from His head, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet? Or thorns compose so rich a crown? 3.Since I, who was undone and lost, Have pardon through His name and word; Forbid it, then, that I should boast, Save in the cross of Christ my Lord. 4.Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a tribute far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my life, my soul, my all.