1 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.
2 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.
3 Loud may the troubled ocean roar,
In sacred peace our souls abide,
While every nation, every shore,
Trembles, and dreads the swelling tide.
4 There is a stream whose gentle flow
Supplies the city of our God;
Life, love, and joy, still gliding through,
And watering our divine abode.
5 That sacred stream, thy holy word,
That all our raging fear controls:
Sweet peace thy promises afford,
And give new strength to fainting souls.
|First Line:||God is the refuge of his saints|
|Topic:||The Christian Church: The Sanctuary; The Church's Safety|