When we survey the wondrous cross (Alternate Tune)

When we survey the wondrous cross

On which the Lord of glory died

Our richest gain we count but loss

And pour contempt on all our pride.

Our God forbid that we should boast

Save in the death of Christ

our Lord;

All the vain things that charm us most

We’d sacrifice them to His blood.

There from His head

His hands

His feet

Sorrow and love flowed mingled down;

Did e’er such love and sorrow meet

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson

from His head

Spreads o’er His body on the tree;

To all the world then am I dead

And all the world is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature ours

That were an offering far too small;

Love that transcends our highest pow’rs

Demands our heart

our life

our all.