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 Forbid it Lord that I should boast save in the death of Christ my God All the vain things that charm me most I sacrifice them through 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 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
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