Glass Basket, Peonies with How dear to my heart is the story of old and God’s glory is a wondrous thing

How dear to my heart is the story of old,
The story that ever is new,
The message that saints of all ages have told,
The message so tender and true.

It came to my heart when, all fettered by sin,
I sat in the prison of doubt:
Like angel of old, the glad story came in
And led me triumphantly out.

It comes to my soul when the tempter is nigh
With snares for my way weary feet;
It tells of the Rock that is higher than I,
And leads to its blissful retreat.

When sorrow is mine, and on pillows of stone
My aching head seeks for repose,
This story brings comfort and peace from the throne,
My desert blooms forth like the rose.

When down in the “valley and shadow of Death,”
I enter the gloom of the grave,
I’ll tell the old story with life’s latest breath,
Of Christ and his power to save.

Chorus
The story that never grows old,
Though over and over ‘tis told:
The story so dear, bringing heav’n so near,
Sweet story that never grows old.
                          John H. Yates God’s glory is a wondrous thing,
  Most strange in all its ways,
And, of all things on earth, least like
  What men agree to praise.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given
  The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field, when he
  Is most invisible!

Blest too is he who can divine
  Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems
  Wrong to man’s blindfold eye!

Then learn to scorn the praise of men,
  And learn to lose with God!
For Jesus won the world through shame,
  And beckons thee His road.

For right is right, since God is God;
  And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
  To falter would be sin!

Rev. Frederick W. Faber