by Issac Watts
(Galatians 6:14)
When I survey the wondrous Cross Where the young 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 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 compose so rich a crown?
His dying crimson like a robe Spreads o'er his body on the Tree, Then am I dead to all the globe, And all the globe is dead to me. 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.
This is by far my favorite hymn
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