Isaac Watts, 1707
When I survey the wondrous cross, On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride. 2. Forbid it Lord that I should boast, | 3. 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? 4. Were the whole realm of nature mine, |
Labels: 18th c., Isaac Watts
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