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 the 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 scared peace our souls abide;
While every nation, every shore,
Trembles and dreads the swelling tide.
There is a stream, whose gentle flow
Makes glad the city of our God,
Life, love, and joy still gliding through,
And watering our divine abode.
Zion enjoys her monarch's love,
Secure against the threatening hour;
Nor can her firm foundation move,
Built on his faithfulness and power.
