The Church's Safety and Triumph Among National Desolations

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 gliding through,

And watering our divine abode.

That sacred stream, Thy living word,

Thus all our anxious fear controls;

Sweet peace Thy promises afford,

And give new strength to fainting souls.

Zion enjoys her Monarch's love,

Secure against the threatening hour;

Nor can her firm foundation move,

Built on His faithfulness and power.