I will sing of the mercies of the Lord for ever: with my mouth will I make known Thy faithfulness to all generations. Psalm 89:1
How dear to my heart is the story of old,
The story that ever is new,
The message that saints of all ages have told,
The message so tender and true.
The story that never grows old,
Tho’ over and over ’tis told;
The story so dear, bringing Heaven so near,
Sweet story that never grows old.
It came to my heart when, all fettered by sin,
I sat in the prison of doubt;
Like angel of old, the glad story came in,
And led me triumphantly out.
It comes to my soul when the tempter is nigh
With snares for my way-weary feet;
It tells of the Rock that is higher than I,
And leads to its blissful retreat.
When sorrow is mine, and on pillows of stone
My aching head seeks for repose,
This story brings comfort and peace from the throne,
My desert blooms forth like the rose.
When down in the
valley and shadow of death,
I enter the gloom of the grave,
I’ll tell the old story with life’s latest breath,
Of Christ and His power to save.