Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
To thine almighty arm we owe|
The triumphs of the day;
Thy terrors, Lord, confound the foe,
And melt their strength away.
2. 'Tis by thine aid our troops prevail,
3. How have we chased them through the field,
4. In vain to idol saints they cry,|
And perish in their blood
Where is a rock so great, so high,
So powerful as our God?
5. The Rock of Isr'el ever lives,
6. On kings that reign as David did,
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