“Where Heathen Dwell”
Where heathen dwell in dark despair,
And under judgment’s doom,
Both joy and peace become so rare
That hope can never bloom.
That hope can never bloom.
That hope can never bloom.
Both joy and peace become so rare
That hope can never bloom.
They bow their hearts to Satan’s lash
And feel his painful stings,
While round them superstitions clash
And mocking laughter rings.
And mocking laughter rings.
And mocking laughter rings.
While round them superstitions clash
And mocking laughter rings.
Though they may look for fond relief
To set their heart at ease,
They daily drink the dregs of grief
And sorrows never cease.
And sorrows never cease.
And sorrows never cease.
They daily drink the dregs of grief
And sorrows never cease.
But there’s a fountain filled with blood,
If they but knew its power;
That sinner plunged beneath that flood
Finds peace that very hour.
Finds peace that very hour.
Finds peace that very hour.
That sinner plunged beneath that flood
Finds peace that very hour.
Lord Jesus, I will not refuse
Thy will or Thy control,
That souls may hear the joyful news,
That Christ can make them whole.
That Christ can make them whole.
That Christ can make them whole.
That souls may hear the joyful news,
That Christ can make them whole.
© Written by Missionary Dan Truax.
May be sung to the tune of “There Is A Fountain”.
