WHOM should we love like Thee, Our God, our Guide, our King, The tower to which we flee, The rock to which we cling? O for a worthy tongue to show The countless mercies that we owe.
The storm upon us fell, The floods around us rose; The depths of death and hell Seemed on our souls to close; To God we cried in strong despair, He heard, and came to help our prayer.
He came, the King of kings, He cleaved the darkened sky; And on the tempest’s wings Rode glorious down from high; The earth before her Maker shook, The mountains quaked at His rebuke.
Above the storm He stood, And awed it to repose; He drew us from the flood, And scattered all our foes; He set us in a spacious place, And there upholds us by His grace.
Whom should we love like Thee, Our God, our Guide, our King, The tower to which we flee, The rock to which we cling? O for a worthy tongue to show The countless mercies that we owe.
Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847