To God be the glory, great things He hath done, so loved He the world that He gave us His Son.
O God of glory, not the kind made of gold or applause, but the kind that stoops low, bleeds for rebels, and walks through the valley to find the one lost lamb.
You didn’t give us a king in robes—you gave us a Savior with scars. You gave us Jesus. And for that alone, You deserve every breath I have left. Who yielded His life an atonement for sin, and opened the life gate that all may go in.
Lord, I still walk through that gate stumbling sometimes, dragging regret, hands dirty, heart divided—but I come. Because the veil tore (Matthew 27:51), the stone rolled (Luke 24:2), and You didn’t stay in the grave. You are life. You are the gate. You are the way, the truth, and the only hope I have (John 14:6).
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the earth hear His voice! Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the people rejoice!
O God, I want to rejoice even when the night is long. Even when I carry burdens I can’t name. Even when joy feels like something distant and foreign. But still I praise You. Because praise isn’t about feelings. It’s about truth. And You are truth. Let the earth shake with the sound of Your Name. Let dry bones rise again (Ezekiel 37:5). Let the weary lift their heads. Let the doubters come close. O come to the Father through Jesus the Son, and give Him the glory great things He hath done.
I come not with pride, not with perfection, but with hunger. You are the Father who runs, the God who welcomes home (Luke 15:20). I bring You my ruin. You give me redemption. I bring You my silence. You sing over me (Zephaniah 3:17). I bring You my ashes and You trade them for beauty (Isaiah 61:3).
Great things He hath taught us, great things He hath done, and great our rejoicing through Jesus the Son. You have taught me through fire and flood (Isaiah 43:2), through loss and laughter. Through the Word that cuts and the Spirit that heals. You are still teaching me—still shaping, still patient, still kind.
And one day, when the tears are no more, and faith becomes sight (2 Corinthians 5:7), I will fall on my face and cry. But purer, and higher, and greater will be our wonder, our transport, when Jesus we see.
Until that day, let my life be a quiet shout of glory, a whispered hallelujah in the dark, a song that rises from the dust to God be the glory. Not to me. Not to my strength. Not to my name.
To God. Be the glory. Forever and ever.
In the matchless, merciful, marvelous name of Jesus, Amen.