THERE is a safe and secret place Beneath the wings divine Reserved for all the heirs of grace, O! be that refuge mine!
The least, the feeblest there may hide Uninjured and unawed; While thousands fall on every side, They rest secure in God.
The angels watch them on their way, And aid with friendly arm; And Satan, roaring for his prey, May hate, but cannot harm.
They feed in pastures large and fair, Of love and Truth divine; O child of God, O glory’s heir, How rich a lot is thine!
A hand almighty to defend, An ear for every call, An honoured life, a peaceful end, And Heaven to crown it all!
Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847