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 hearts 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 sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Find peace that very hour.
Find peace that very hour,
Find peace that very hour,
That sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Find 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.