Oh, Dread on the Mountains

Oh

dread on the mount­ains the shriek of des­pair

The foam on the lip

and the eye­balls’ red glare;

And hot as the de­sert the blast of his breath

Who comes with the fiends from the dwell­ings of death.

The Sav­ior be­holds him—the spir­its un­clean

Cry out through the lips of the poor Ga­da­rene;

Accursed—man de­fy­ing

they go at a word

Entreating

be­seech­ing and own­ing their Lord.

Oh

dread in the soul is the pre­sence of sin

Sweet peace takes her flight as the tempt­er comes in;

And on­ly the pow­er of God in the heart

Can say to the spir­its of evil

De­part.