There are moments in worship that we are forced to pause and remember the sacrifice that Christ made for us. "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross" is one of those songs for me.
As the song progresses, I can't help but imagine the anguish of the cross and remember that it was my sin that put Him there. It is only by His grace and mercy that I can be with Him forever. Even in the somber tones of this hymn I am filled with joy. For it is not just a telling of his gruesome death, but of our release from the shackles of sin and our sentence of death.
A few years ago I had the privilege of visiting the U.K. and taking a Christian heritage tour. I walked John Bunyan's Pilgrims Progress, stood in the room where John Newton composed Amazing Grace, and one afternoon I was able to walk through the shared residence of Sir Thomas Abney (and his wife) and their long time houseguest Isaac Watts. Outside of Abney House there is a garden/park where Watts would sit and compose poetry based on scripture. These poems would become some of the greatest hymns of all time.
Watts had been a poet since childhood. As a teen he found that the songs in church were too hard to sing. At his complaint, his father said, "Well, you write some that are better." A challenge maybe, but for the next two years, Isaac Watts wrote a new hymn each week. At times in his life he would write a song a day. In the end he would pen more than 600 songs, all based on scripture, including "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross".
To purchase HYMNS: His Grace Untold click HERE
More Behind the Song and Lyrics
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WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS
Music by: Lowell Mason (1824)
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?
His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.
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.
To Christ, who won for sinners grace
By bitter grief and anguish sore,
Be praise from all the ransomed race
Forever and forevermore
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