My Refuge

Verse 1

To the rock flies the cony, the stork to her nest, When tempests are gathering and black is the west; So swift, by life’s trials o’erwhelmed and oppressed, I fly to my refuge, Jehovah, my rest!

Verse 2

The nest, whither speedeth the storm beaten bird, Aloft, on the fir top by tempests is stirred; But the nest of my refuge no storm wind can smite; ’Tis the breast of Jehovah; I’m safe from afright.

Verse 3

The rock where the cony securely may hide Is set in the mountain’s cold, pitiless side; But the rock of my safety, the home of my quest, ’Tis the heart of my Savior: How warm and how blest!

Verse 4

Then blow, thou wild tempest, I fear not thy might, Tho’ blackly thou lowerest, my prospect is bright; Jehovah, my Savior, I fly to Thy breast; Dear rock of my refuge! Dear sheltering nest!