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.