By G.D. Scarborough
Music: Luther G Presley
I have heard of a place on the mountain
Many strangers have journeyed to see.
And they say there's a life giving fountain
Flowing from a place called Calvary.
It was there they took one who was holy
So compassionate, tender and true.
While the angels and seraphim holy
Watched the scene from the heavenly blue.
As He traveled this pathway of sorrow,
He was thinking of all of his own,
Of a life in the blessed tomorrow
Where no heartaches will ever be known;
What a wonderful, precious old story,
Growing sweeter each time it is told,
Of a Savior who came down from glory
Just to lead us back into the fold.
In the garden some One has been praying
In a voice that is plaintive and low,
If we only knew what He was saying,
How the tears of compassion would flow;
If each day we could share in some measure
Of the old rugged cross that He bore,
It would surely make heave a pleasure
When we reach that eternal bright shore.
At the top of the hill
Where they carried the old rugged cross.
At the top of the hill
It was Jesus who bore all our loss.
At the top of the hill
Let us kneel down and thank him once more
For the blood he did spill
When alone all our sorrow he bore.
Shap note musical score available at
http://archive.org/details/sunlitwayourfirs00dall
[Page 111/2 in the book, and I think 117/8 on the pdf file]
By G.D. Scarborough
Music: Luther G Presley
I have heard of a place on the mountain
Many strangers have journeyed to see.
And they say there's a life giving fountain
Flowing from a place called Calvary.
It was there they took one who was holy
So compassionate, tender and true.
While the angels and seraphim holy
Watched the scene from the heavenly blue.
As He traveled this pathway of sorrow,
He was thinking of all of his own,
Of a life in the blessed tomorrow
Where no heartaches will ever be known;
What a wonderful, precious old story,
Growing sweeter each time it is told,
Of a Savior who came down from glory
Just to lead us back into the fold.
In the garden some One has been praying
In a voice that is plaintive and low,
If we only knew what He was saying,
How the tears of compassion would flow;
If each day we could share in some measure
Of the old rugged cross that He bore,
It would surely make heave a pleasure
When we reach that eternal bright shore.
At the top of the hill
Where they carried the old rugged cross.
At the top of the hill
It was Jesus who bore all our loss.
At the top of the hill
Let us kneel down and thank him once more
For the blood he did spill
When alone all our sorrow he bore.
Shap note musical score available at http://archive.org/details/sunlitwayourfirs00dall
[Page 111/2 in the book, and I think 117/8 on the pdf file]
