When the mountain of sin rose above me,
And I could not scale its black heights,
Its dark shadows were falling upon me,
And gathering the blackness of night;
Then a hand took me over the mountain
To my home which was far out of sight.
When I sank in the horrible dungeon,
That horrible pit where I lay,
When the terrors of death were upon me,
And nothing my fears could allay;
Then a hand underneath me upbore me
To the brightness and gladness of day.
When I’m sinking in death’s gloomy river,
And down in the surges I lie,
Then this hand is extended to rescue,
And lift to my home in the sky;
’Tis the hand of my Savior that takes me,
And will lift me to dwell upon high.
Unto Him who thus graciously saves me,
From sorrow, and sadness and sin,
I will cling till in love He shall bring me,
Where never a sorrow has been;
And when He at the door will be waiting,
To lift me, a poor wanderer, in.