Christ, Our Rock!

When wea­ry and faint­ing and rea­dy to die

To the Rock in the de­sert for safe­ty I fly;

There

’neath its cool shel­ter from storms I would hide;

My soul is re­freshed as in Him I ab­ide.

O come all ye wea­ry

and bliss­ful­ly prove

That Christ is the Rock

and His sha­dow is love.

When thirs­ty and parched with the heat of the day

To the Rock that was smit­ten I’ll haste me and say

Give me a cool drink from Thy boun­ti­ful store

And quick­ly and free­ly the life wa­ters pour.

Though bil­lows of sor­row around me may roll

And dan­gers of mid­night may trou­ble my soul

I’ll haste to the Rock that is high­er than I

And safe­ly I’ll rest till the night pass­eth by.