I love to sing of Jesus,
The story all so true;
To me most sweet and precious,
The old but ever new.
He came from brightest glory,
From radiant courts on high;
How matchless is the story
Of Him who came to die!
I love to sing of Jesus,
The story all so true;
To me most sweet and precious,
The old but ever new.
The babe in Bethlehem's manger,
The lowly One on earth;
Rejected and a stranger,
Few cared to know His worth.
My soul would now recall Him,
In all His perfect love;
Which only Calvary's Victim
Its wondrous depths could prove.
'Twas there my Saviour suffered,
And tasted death for me;
Yes, there the work He finished,
That sets me ever free.
My sins all laid upon Him,
The wrath and judgment borne;
The power of Satan broken,
In Jesus' death of scorn.
And now the Lord is risen,
His travail ever o'er;
Seated in highest heaven,
Alive to die no more.
And soon He's coming for me,
To take me home above;
Where still I'll sing the story
Of Jesus and His love.