1 Unshaken as the sacred hill, And firm as mountains be, Firm as a rock the soul shall rest That leans, O Lord, on thee.
2 Not walls nor hills could guard so well Old Salem's happy ground, As those eternal arms of love That every saint surround.
3 While tyrants are a smarting scourge To drive them near to God, Divine compassion does allay The fury of the rod.
4 Deal gently, Lord, with souls sincere, And lead them safely on To the bright gates of Paradise, Where Christ their Lord is gone.
5 But if we trace those crooked ways That the old serpent drew, The wrath that drove him first to hell Shall smite his followers too.