How condescending and how kind
       Was God’s eternal Son!
       Our misery reached His heavenly mind,
       And pity brought Him down.

       When justice by our sins provoked,
       Drew forth its dreadful sword,
       He gave His soul up to the stroke,
       Without a murmuring word.

       He sank beneath our heavy woes,
       To raise us to His throne:
       There’s ne’er a gift His hand bestows
       But cost His heart a groan.

       This was compassion like a God,
       That though the Savior knew
       The price of pardon was His blood,
       His pity ne’er withdrew.

       Now, though He reigns exalted high,
       His love is still as great:
       Well He remembers Calvary,
       Nor let His saints forget.

       Here let our hearts begin to melt,
       While we His death record,
       And, with our joy for pardoned guilt,
       Mourn that we pierced the Lord.
                                                   Isaac Watts

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Tell me the old, old story
  Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and His glory,
  Of Jesus and His love.
Tell me the story simply,
  As to a little child,
For I am weak and weary,
  And helpless and defiled.

Tell me the story slowly,
  That I may take it in-
That wonderful Redemption
  God’s remedy for sin!
Tell me the story often,
  For I forget so soon!
The “early dew” of morning
  Has passed away at noon!

Tell me the story softly,
  With earnest tones, and grave;
Remember!  I’m the sinner
  Whom Jesus came to save.
Tell me that story always,
  If you would really be,
In any time of trouble,
  A comforter to me.

Tell me the same old story,
  When you have cause to fear
That this world’s empty glory
  Is costing me too dear.
Yes, and when that world’s glory
  Is drawing on my soul,
Tell me the old, old story:
  “Christ Jesus makes thee whole.”

Chorus
Tell me the old, old story,
Tell me the old, old story,
Tell me the old, old story,
Of Jesus and His love.
            Katherine Hankey

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How sweet the old, old gospel,
The message, “Look and live!”
The right to call him Father, God
Has said He’d freely give.

There is no condemnation
To children of the Lord;
Their refuge is His holy name,
Their merit is His blood.

And when we reach the glory,
Thro’ riches of His grace,
We shall be wholly like our Lord
When we behold His face.

Chorus
“As many as received Him,
As many as believed Him,
To them He gave the power
To become the sons of God;”
As many as receive Him,
As many as believe Him,
Have now a full redemption
Thro’ the Savior’s precious blood.
                   Mrs. C. D. Martin