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 defil'd.
	Tell me the old, old story, tell me the old, old story,
	Tell me the old, old story of Jesus and his love.
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 pass'd away at noon.
	Tell me the old, old story . . . .
Tell me the story softly, with earnest tones and grave;
Remember I’m the sinner whom Jesus came to save.
Tell me the story always if you would really be,
In any time of trouble, a comforter to me.
	Tell me the old, old story . . . .
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 dawning on my soul
Tell me the old, old story: Christ Jesus makes thee whole.
	Tell me the old, old story . . . .