[Pegita]

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.

[txrangerette]

Forbid it Lord
That I should boast
Save in the death
Of Christ my Lord
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 ere 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 devine
Demands my soul
My life
My all.