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.