1 On Thee, great Ruler of the skies,
On Thee our steadfast hope relies;
When hostile powers against us join,
What aid so present, Lord, as Thine?

2 By Thee secured, no fears we own,
Though earth, convulsed, beneath us groan,
Though tempests o’er her surface sweep,
And whirl her hills into the deep—

3 Though, armed with rage, before our eyes
That deep in all its horrors rise,
While, as the tumult spreads around
The mountains tremble at the sound.

4 Behold fair Sion’s blest retreat,
Where God has fixed His awful seat;
Whose walls to Heaven’s almighty Lord
His chosen residence afford.

5 No tempests here licentious stray,
But soft along their level way
The sacred streams their course maintain,
And crown with health their happy plain.

6 God, ever watchful, ever nigh,
Bids storms around her harmless fly;
His early care each foe withstands,
And backward turns the yielding bands.