Gracious Father, guard Thy children
From the foe’s destructive power;
Save, O save them, Lord, from falling
In this dark and trying hour.
Thou wilt surely prove Thy people,
All our graces must be tried;
But Thy Word illumes our pathway,
And in God we still confide.

We are in the time of waiting;
Soon we shall behold our Lord,
Wafted far away from sorrow,
To receive our rich reward.
Keep us, Lord, till Thine appearing,
Pure, unspotted, from the world;
Let Thy Holy Spirit cheer us
Till Thy banner is unfurled.

With what joyful exultation
Shall the saints Thy banner see,
When the Lord for whom we’ve waited
Shall proclaim the jubilee!
Freedom from this world’s pollutions;
Freedom from all sin and pain;
Freedom from the wiles of Satan,
And from death’s destructive reign.

Come, ye that fear the Lord, and hear
What He has done for me;
My cry for help is turned to praise,
For He has set me free.
Through pain and trouble Thou hast led,
And humbled all our pride,
But, in the end, to liberty
And wealth Thy hand did guide.

If in my heart I sin regard,
My prayer He will not hear;
But truly God has heard my voice,
My prayer has reached His ear.
O let the Lord, our gracious God,
Forever blessèd be,
Who has not turned my prayer from Him,
Nor yet His grace from me.

Here in Thy house I give to Thee
The life that Thou dost bless,
And pay the solemn vows I made
When I was in distress.
O all ye peoples, bless our God,
Aloud proclaim His praise,
Who safely holds our soul in life,
And steadfast makes our ways.

I love to tell the story of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and His glory, of Jesus and His love.
I love to tell the story, because I know ’tis true;
It satisfies my longings as nothing else can do.

Refrain

I love to tell the story, ’twill be my theme in glory,
To tell the old, old story of Jesus and His love.

I love to tell the story; more wonderful it seems
Than all the golden fancies of all our golden dreams.
I love to tell the story, it did so much for me;
And that is just the reason I tell it now to thee.

Refrain

I love to tell the story; ’tis pleasant to repeat
What seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet.
I love to tell the story, for some have never heard
The message of salvation from God’s own holy Word.

Refrain

I love to tell the story, for those who know it best
Seem hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest.
And when, in scenes of glory, I sing the new, new song,
’Twill be the old, old story that I have loved so long.

Refrain

If you would rescue a soul from its sin,
Tell the sweet story of Jesus;
If for God’s kingdom a soul you would win,
Tell the sweet story of love.

Refrain

Tell the sweet story of love,
Jesus will smile from above;
Tell the sweet story, the beautiful story,
The wonderful story of love.

If you would comfort a sorrowing heart,
Tell the sweet story of Jesus;
Joy overflowing His peace will impart,
Tell the sweet story of love.

Refrain

If you would kindle love’s beautiful flame,
Tell the sweet story of Jesus;
In darkened hearts that have ne’er heard His Name,
Tell the sweet story of love.

Refrain

Would you make earth like a heaven below?
Tell the sweet story of Jesus;
Lovingly, gently, wherever you go,
Tell the sweet story of love.

Refrain

God from on high hath heard;
Let sighs and sorrows cease;
Lo! from the opening Heav’n descends
To man the promised Peace.

Hark! through the silent night
Angelic voices swell;
Their joyful songs proclaim that “God
Is born on earth to dwell.”

See how the shepherd band
Speed on with eager feet;
Come to the hallowed cave with them
The Holy Babe to greet.

But, oh, what sight appears
Within that lowly door!
A manger, stall, and swaddling clothes,
A Child and mother poor!

Art Thou the Christ? the Son?
The Father’s image bright?
And see we Him Whose arm upholds
Earth and the starry height?

Yea, faith can pierce the cloud
Which veils Thy glory now;
We hail Thee, God, before Whose throne
The angels prostrate bow.

A silent Teacher, Lord,
Thou bidd’st us not refuse
To bear what flesh would have us shun,
To shun what flesh would choose.

Our sinful pride to cure
With that pure love of Thine,
O be Thou born within our hearts,
Most Holy Child divine.

My God, is any hour so sweet
From blush of morn to evening star,
As that which calls me to Thy feet—
The hour of prayer?

Blest is that tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that hour of solemn eve,
When, on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave.

Then is my strength by Thee renewed;
Then are my sins by Thee forgiv’n;
Then dost Thou cheer my solitude
With hopes of Heav’n.

No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.

Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;
My spirit seems in Heav’n to stay;
And e’en the penitential tear
Is wiped away.

Lord, till I reach yon blissful shore,
No privilege so dear shall be
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to Thee.