The Hand That Lifts Me

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.