When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contmpt on all my pride. Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ, my God; 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 e'er 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 divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOME (2) by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST ECHOES: 6 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE by RUPERT HUGHES THESEUS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL by PUBLIUS AELIUS HADRIANUS THE GREEN ROADS by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS |