Time

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

- Isaac Watts

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

Isaac Watts, 1707, text of 1709

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.