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
there was no other enough
to pay the price of sin;
He only could unlock the gate
of heaven and let us in.
o dearly has he loved,
and we must love him too
