Words: Isaac Watts
Note: there is also a Short Metre version on this page.
The saint's trial and safety,
1 Unshaken as the sacred hill, And firm as mountains be, Firm as a rock the soul shall rest That leans, O Lord, on thee.
2 Not walls nor hills could guard so well Old Salem's happy ground, As those eternal arms of love That ev'ry saint surround.
3 While tyrants are a smarting scourge To drive them near to God, Divine compassion does allay The fury of the rod.
4 Deal gently, Lord, with souls sincere, And lead them safely on To the bright gates of Paradise, Where Christ their Lord is gone.
5 But if we trace those crooked ways That the old serpent drew, The wrath that drove him first to hell Shall smite his followers too.
The saint's trial and safety; or, Moderated afflictions.
1 Firm and unmoved are they That rest their souls on God; Firm as the mount where David dwelt, Or where the ark abode.
2 As mountains stood to guard The city's sacred ground, So God and his almighty love Embrace his saints around.
3 What though the Father's rod Drop a chastising stroke, Yet, lest it wound their souls too deep, Its fury shall be broke.
4 Deal gently, Lord, with those Whose faith and pious fear, Whose hope, and love, and ev'ry grace, Proclaim their hearts sincere.
5 Nor shall the tyrant's rage Too long oppress the saint; The God of Isr'el will support His children lest they faint.
6 But if our slavish fear Will choose the road to hell, We must expect our portion there, Where bolder sinners dwell.