PSALM XLVI.

George Burgess

Though mountains, sever'd from the shore,
Fall thund'ring through the deep;
Though wild the waters rave and roar,
And shake the rocky steep.

A gentler stream, with gladd'ning tide,
Shall God's fair city lave,
And, where the Highest's tents abide,
Shall send its silver wave.

God, in her midst, with guardian might,
Defends her lowliest bow'r;
And sure and soon as morning's light,
God sends her succ'ring hour.

The heathen rag'd, but earth's wide coasts
His voice dissolves with fear:
Our shelter is the Lord of Hosts,
And Jacob's God is here.

Oh, come, his peaceful vict'ries know,
His wonders near and far;
He cuts the spear, he breaks the bow,
He burns the warlike car.

Hark, how he quells the heathen's boasts,
And sways the earthly sphere:
Our shelter is the Lord of Hosts,
And Jacob's God is here.