Golden Bells - There Will Be Shouting On The Hills Lyrics
Lyrics
CHORUS
There will be shouting on the hills of glory,
Shouting on the hills, yes,shouting on the hills,
When we reach that land of which we've heard the story,
There will be shouting on the hills of God.
What a happy time is coming
When we reach our home in heaven
And the burdens which we bear
There we'll bear no more,
When the angels sound the trumpets
Calling us to those bright mansions
There will be shouting on the everlasting shore.
CHORUS
There will be shouting on the hills of glory,
Shouting on the hills, yes,shouting on the hills,
When we reach that land of which we've heard the story,
There will be shouting on the hills of God.
When the saints begin to gather
Round the Throne in that blessed city,
And the angels there the songs of praise uphold
Harps and golden bells will be ringing
Saints of all the ages singing
Such a meeting as we never saw before.
CHORUS
There will be shouting on the hills of glory,
Shouting on the hills, yes,shouting on the hills,
When we reach that land of which we've heard the story,
There will be shouting on the hills of God.
On that blessed happy morning,
When all saints are risen again
And when all our loved ones we will see again,
In that happy land eternal,
We will live in joys supernal,
And with Jesus and the angels ever reign.
CHORUS
There will be shouting on the hills of glory,
Shouting on the hills, yes,shouting on the hills,
When we reach that land of which we've heard the story,
There will be shouting on the hills of God.
Video
Bill & Gloria Gaither - The Holy Hills of Heaven Call Me [Live] ft. Vestal Goodman, Dottie Rambo
Meaning & Inspiration
I’m sitting here with the remnants of a life that felt like it was supposed to end in a ditch, listening to Vestal Goodman and Dottie Rambo belt out "The Holy Hills of Heaven Call Me." It’s loud. It’s got that old-school, back-porch rattling that makes my chest hurt in the best way.
Most days, I’m just trying to keep my head above water. The "shouting" they’re singing about feels like a lifetime away from the quiet, sometimes cold reality of waking up sober and trying to piece together why I’m still here.
There’s this line—“the burdens which we bear, there we’ll bear no more.”
I’ve spent so much time dragging heavy things behind me. Shame, regret, the look on my dad’s face when I walked out, the faces of people I hurt while I was chasing whatever ghost I thought would make me feel alive. You get used to the weight. It becomes part of your posture. You stop noticing the slouch until you try to stand up straight and realize you can’t. The idea that those burdens aren't just lightened, but completely gone—that there’s a place where they don’t even exist anymore—it feels like a scandal. It sounds too easy, and that’s what scares me.
In Luke 15, the boy comes home expecting to be a hired hand, hoping to just earn a crust of bread. He’s rehearsed his speech about being unworthy. He doesn't expect the robe, or the ring, or the slaughter of the fatted calf. He expects the debt to be acknowledged, but the Father is busy celebrating.
Maybe that’s what the "shouting on the hills" is about. It’s not a polite, Sunday-morning murmur. It’s the sound of people who know they shouldn't have made it, but did. It’s a riot of relief.
Then they sing about “saints of all the ages singing, such a meeting as we never saw before.”
I struggle with that. I don't feel like a saint. I feel like a survivor of my own bad choices. I look at the screen—Gaither, Goodman, Rambo—and I see these people who seem so secure in their destination, and I’m still standing here with the smell of the pig pen barely washed out of my hair. But if they’re right, if the "holy hills" are actually calling, then heaven isn’t a place for the perfect. It’s a place for the rescued.
It’s messy, this thought of mine. I don't know how I get from here to those hills. I just know that when I hear them singing about the end of the burdens, I start to believe maybe I don't have to carry them all the way to the grave. Maybe the shouting isn't just for them. Maybe it’s for the ones who were found at the very last second, shaking and empty-handed. I don't have a tidy ending for this. I just know the music sounds like a way out.