He That Hath Made His Refuge God

He that hath 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 man! Thy mak­er’s care

Shall keep thee from the fowl­er’s snare

Satan

the fowl­er

who be­trays

Unguarded souls a thou­sand ways.

Just as a hen pro­tects her brood

From birds of prey that seek their blood

Under her fea­thers

so the Lord

Makes His own arm His peo­ple’s guard.

If burn­ing beams of noon con­spire

To dart a pes­ti­len­tial fire

God is their life; His wings are spread

To shield them with a health­ful shade.

If vapors with ma­lig­nant breath

Rise thick

and scat­ter mid­night death

Israel is safe; the poi­soned air

Grows pure

if Is­ra­el’s God be there.

What though a thou­sand at thy side

At thy right hand ten thou­sand died

Thy God His chos­en peo­ple saves

Amongst the dead

amidst the graves.

So when He sent His an­gel down

To make His wrath in Egypt known

And slew their sons

His care­ful eye

Passed all the doors of Ja­cob by.

But if the fire

or plague

or sword

Receive com­mis­sion from the Lord

To strike His saints among the rest

Their ve­ry pains and deaths are blest.

The sword

the pes­ti­lence or fire

Shall but ful­fill their best de­sire;

From sins and sor­rows set them free

And bring Thy child­ren

Lord

to Thee.