| When I Survey The Wondrous Cross
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| When I survey the wondrous cross
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| On which the Prince of Glory died;
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| My richest gain I count but loss,
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| And pour contempt on all my pride.
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| Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
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| Save in the death of Christ, my God;
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| All the vain things that charm me most,
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| I sacrifice them to his blood.
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| See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
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| Sorrow and love flow mingled down.
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| Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
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| Or thorns compose so rich a crown.
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| Were the whole realm of nature mine,
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| That were an offering far too small;
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| Love so amazing, so divine,
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| Demands my soul, my life, my all. |