1 God is the refuge of his saints,
When storms of deep distress invade.
Ere we can offer our complaints,
Behold him present with his aid.

2 Let mountains from their seats be hurl'd
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 ev'ry nation, ev'ry shore
Trembles and dreads the swelling tide.

4 'Midst storms and tempests, Lord! thy word
Does ev'ry rising fear control.
Sweet peace thy promises afford,
And well sustain the fainting soul.