The old, old story

1 Hundreds of years have vanish'd.
Heroes have lived and died;
But all have been forgotten,
Except the Crucified.
I love, in the dear twilight,
Beside my mother's knee,
To sit and hear her stories
Of him who died for me.

Chorus:
Tell me the old, old story,
Of him who loved me so;
Who died that he might save me
Hundreds of years ago.

2 Age after age is rolling,
Of eighteen hundred years,
And yet the dear old story
Still fresh and new appears.
We love it in our childhood,
And in our youthful prime;
We love it in our manhood,
And in our life's decline. [Chorus]

3 Sing it when I am dying;
Oh, may the last word be,
The blessed name of Jesus,
Jesus who died for me.
We'll sing it in our childhood,
And in our youthful prime;
We love it in our manhood,
And in our life's decline. [Chorus]


Source: Joy to the World: or, sacred songs for gospel meetings #19