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:: Friday, April 18, 2003 ::
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.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ my God
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to his blood.
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!
-Isaac Watts, 1707
:: Matt 4/18/2003 04:57:00 PM :: permalink ::
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