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.

There is a stream whose gentle flow
Supplies the city of our God;
Life, love, and joy still gliding through
And watering our divine abode.

That sacred stream, Thy Holy Word,
Our grief allays, our fear controls:
Sweet peace Thy promises afford
And give new strength to fainting souls.

Isaac Watts

The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.

Psalm 18:2

Copied from my grandmother’s hymnal, Hymn Book of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Publishing House of the M. E. Church, South: Nashville, TN, 1901, Hymn #199.

Note: This hymn is in the public domain. Also, the hymns in this hymnal are not titled. So when I do not know the hymn, I generally use the first line as the title.

Photo taken in Milton, FL, 2021

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