God Is The Refuge Of His Saints

God is the refuge of His saints,

When storms of sharp distress invade;

Ere we can offer our complaints,

Behold Him present with His aid.

Let mountains from their seats be hurled

Down to the deep, and buried there;

Convulsions shake the solid world:

Our faith shall never yield to fear.

Loud may the troubled ocean roar;

In sacred peace our souls abide;

While every nation, every shore,

Trembles, and dreads the swelling tide.

There is a stream, whose gentle flow

Supplies the city of our God,

Life, love, and joy, still guiding through,

And wat'ring our divine abode.

That sacred stream-Thy holy Word-

That all our raging fear controls;

Sweet peace Thy promises afford,

And give new strength to fainting souls.

Zion enjoys her Monarch's love,

Secure against a threatening hour;

Nor can her firm foundations move,

Built on His truth, and armed with power.