God Is the Refuge of His Saints

God is the re­fuge of His saints

When storms of sharp dis­tress in­vade;

E’er 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 wa­ter­ing our di­vine ab­ode.

That sac­red stream

Thine ho­ly Word

That all our rag­ing fear con­trols;

Sweet peace Thy pro­mis­es af­ford

And give new strength to faint­ing souls.

Sion en­joys her mon­arch’s love

Secure against a threa­ten­ing hour;

Nor can her firm foun­da­tions move

Built on His truth

and armed with pow­er.