Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
My refuge is the God of love;|
Why do my foes insult and cry,
Fly like a tim'rous, trembling dove,
To distant woods or mountains fly?
2. If government be all destroyed,
3. The Lord in heav'n has fixed his throne,
4. If he afflicts his saints so far,|
To prove their love and try their grace,
What may the bold transgressors fear?
His very soul abhors their ways.
5. On impious wretches he shall rain
6. The righteous Lord loves righteous souls,
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