GWhen 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.

GForbid it, DLord, that CI should bDoast

GSave in the Ddeath of CChrist, my DGod

GAll the vain tDhings

that cCharm me mDost

GI sacrifDice them thCrough his bGlood

GSee from His hDead,

His hCands, His fDeet

GSorrow and lDove flow mCingled dDown

GDid e’er such lDove and sCorrow Dmeet

GOr thorns comDpose so rCich a cDrown

GWere the whole rDealm of Cnature mDine

GThat were an oDffering Cfar too sDmall

GLove so aDmazing, Cso divDine

GDemands my Dsoul, my Clife, Dmy alGl