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.