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
there was no other enough
to pay the price of sin;

He only could unlock the gate
of heaven and let us in.
o dearly has he loved,
and we must love him too