On which the Prince of glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
and pour contempt on all my pride.
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.