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,
still quakes and dreads the swelling tide.
4 There is a stream, whose gentle flow
makes glad the city of our God;
life, love, and joy, still gliding through,
refreshing our divine abode.
5 That sacred stream, Your holy Word,
our grief allays, our fear controls;
sweet peace Your promises afford,
and give new strength to fainting souls.
6 Zion enjoys her Monarch's love,
steadfast against a threat'ning hour;
nor can her firm foundations move,
built on His truth, and armed with pow'r.
