Fixed up­on God as on a rock,
The hum­ble soul no ter­ror knows;
In vain the tem­pest’s migh­ty shock
Rages against its calm re­pose.

If Sa­tan whis­per thoughts of dread,
And strive to fill the soul with doubt,
Faith an­swers, True: but Je­sus bled,
And ev­ery sin is blot­ted out.

Though nei­ther vine nor ol­ive bear,
The herd be se­vered from the stall,
Faith sees eter­nal love e’en there,
And glo­ri­fies her God in all.

Though pain and sharp dis­ease in­vade,
And mind and bo­dy suf­fer long,
Faith finds His grace suf­fi­cient aid,
And e’en in fee­ble­ness is strong.

In life, in death, while fixed on Thee,
Eternal all suf­fi­cient aid,
I would not doubt Thy wise de­cree,
But trust and ne­ver be afraid.