Psalm 46 Poetry by Isaac Watts
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,
still quakes and dreads the swelling tide.
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.
That sacred stream, your holy word,
our grief allays, our fear controls;
sweet peace your promises afford,
and give new strength to fainting souls.
Zion enjoys her Monarch’s love,
steadfast against a threatening hour;
nor can her firm foundations move,
built on his truth and armed with power.