When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My rich - est gain I count but loss, And pour con - tempt on all my pride. Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death, of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm me most, I sacri - fice them to His blood. See from His head, His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns com - pose so rich a crown? Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a of - - - fering far too small; Love so a – maz - ing, so div - ine, Demands my soul, demands my soul, Love demands my soul, my life, my all.