#583God, Our Refuge

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, Trembles, and dreads the swelling tide.