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.
Loud may the troubled ocean roar
In sacred peace our souls abide;
While ev'ry nation, ev'ry 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 wat'ring our divine abode.