This song was composed by Author, in the fall of 1831, while travelling over the mountains, on French Broad River, in North
Carolina and Tennessee
High o'er the hills the mountains rise,
Their summits tower toward the skies;
But far above them I must dwell,
Or sink beneath the flames of hell.
Oh, God! forbid that I should fall
And lose my everlasting all;
But may I rise on wings of love,
And soar to the blest world above.
Although I walk the mountains high,
Ere long my body low must lie,
And in some lonesome place must rot,
And by the living be forgot.
There it must lie till that great day,
When Gabriel's awful trump shall say,
Arise, the judgment day is come,
When all must hear their final doom.
If not prepared, then I must go
Down to eternal pain and woe,
With devils there I must remain,
And never more return again.
But if prepared, Oh, blessed thought!
I'll rise above the mountain's top,
And there remain for evermore
On Canaan's peaceful, happy shore.
Oh! when I think of that blest world,
Where all God's people dwell in love,
I oft times long with them to be
And dwell in heaven eternally.
Then will I sing God's praises there,
Who brought me through my troubles here
I'll sing, and be forever blest,
Find sweet and everlasting rest.