Firm and unmoved are they

That rest their souls on God;

Firm as the mount where David dwelt,

Or where the ark abode.

As mountains stood to guard

The city's sacred ground,

So God and his almighty love

Embrace his saints around.

What though the Father's rod

Drop a chastising stroke,

Yet, lest it wound their souls too deep,

Its fury shall be broke.

Deal gently, Lord, with those

Whose faith and pious fear,

Whose hope, and love, and every grace,

Proclaim their hearts sincere.

Nor shall the tyrant's rage

Too long oppress the saint;

The God of Isr'el will support

His children lest they faint.

But if our slavish fear

Will choose the road to hell,

We must expect our portion there,

Where bolder sinners dwell.