Words: Isaac Watts
Note: Watts' subtitle for this Psalm is probably a reference
A song for the fifth of November.
1 Had not the Lord, may Isr'el say, Had not the Lord maintained our side, When men, to make our lives a prey, Rose like the swelling of the tide;
2 The swelling tide had stopped our breath, So fiercely did the waters roll, We had been swallowed deep in death; Proud waters had o'erwhelmed our soul.
3 We leap for joy, we shout and sing, Who just escaped the fatal stroke; So flies the bird with cheerful wing, When once the fowler's snare is broke
4 For ever blessèd be the Lord, Who broke the fowler's cursed snare, Who saved us from the murd'ring sword, And made our lives and souls his care.
5 Our help is in Jehovah's name, Who formed the earth and built the skies: He that upholds that wondrous frame Guards his own church with watchful eyes.