G C G C G D
When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died,
G C G D G
My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.
G C G C G D
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ, my God.
G C G D G
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
G C G C G D
See, from His head, His hands, His feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down.
G C G D G
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?
G C G C G D
Were the whole realm of nature, mine, that were a present far too small.
G C G D G
Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
Text: Isaac Watts Music: Gregorian chant
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