What have I on earth to boast of?
Why are gifts so glorious mine?
Christ and heaven am I the heir of?
Why dost Thou, Lord, claim me Thine?
Jesus hung on Calvary’s mountain,
Cried and groaned and bled for me;
And from out that cleansing fountain
Poured the stream that sets me free.
Jesus died, the God-life bringing;
Jesus wept, my tears to stay;
Jesus groaned to give me singing,
Bore hell’s night to give me day.
He was poor to give me treasure,
He was slave to make me king;
He was hated without measure,
Heaven’s love to me to bring.
Have I joy? ’Twas sorrow bought it;
Have I pow’r, or grace, or love?
Have I wealth? ’Twas Jesus brought it
Down to me from heav’n above.
Hark! I hear ’mid every pleasure
Sounds of Calvary’s mournful night,
And, behold, by every treasure
Calvary’s cross appears in sight.
Where, then, where is room for boasting
In the sight of Calvary’s cross?
In the blood alone I’m trusting,
Counting other gain but loss.