A HYMN FOR THE INVENTION OF HOLY CROSS
By Isaac Watts, 1707
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
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?
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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