And pour contempt on all my pride!
2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my Lord:
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.
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,