When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on worldly joys and pride.
See from His head, His hands and feet
In torrents blood is flowing down.
Did e’re such love and sorrow meet,
Or piercing thorns compose a royal crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an off’ring far too small;
Love so extreme, love so divine,
O God, demands my heart, my soul, my all.
To Christ, who won for sinners grace
By bitter grief and anguish sore,
Be praise from all the ransomed race,
From age to age this day and evermore.
Ludwig Bonvin, “Hosanna” Catholic Hymn Book, 4th ed. (St. Louis: B. Herder, 1914).