Love

"My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine;
For Thee all the follies of sin I resign;
My gracious Redeemer, my Savior art Thou;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I love Thee because Thou hast first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

I’ll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.” 


Grandma closed the hymnal from which she’d been reading and looked over at the bed where Grandpa lay.

“Are you crying, dear?” She asked, surprised. 

“They’ve got it the wrong way around,” Grandpa said quietly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s not how much we love Him, it’s how much He loved us first.” Grandpa wiped the tears from his eyes and said with conviction, “He loves us so much.”