When I surveyed the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And poor content on all my pride
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Saving the death of Christ my Lord
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to blood
Don’t my soul
Don’t no
See feet
Sorrow and love mingled down
Did such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose rich crown
the realm of mine
orphan far too small
divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all
Don’t my soul
Don’t no
my soul, don’t granted
No, no, no
Don’t granted
Oh
