HE who has made his refuge God Shall find a most secure abode, Shall walk all day beneath His shade, And there, at night, shall rest his head.
Then will I say, ‘My God, Thy power Shall be my fortress and my tower: I, that am formed of feeble dust, Make Thine almighty arm my trust.’
Thrice happy one! my maker’s care Shall keep me from the tempter’s snare; The tempter, Satan, who betrays Unguarded souls a thousand ways.
But if the fire, or plague, or sword, Receive commission from the Lord To strike His saints among the rest, Even the pains of death are blest!
The sword, the pestilence, or fire, Shall but fulfil their best desire; From sins and sorrow set them free, And bring Thy children, Lord, to Thee.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748