Happy the church, thou sac­red place,
The seat of thy cre­at­or’s grace;
Thine ho­ly courts are His abode,
Thou earth­ly pal­ace of our God!

Thy walls are strength, and at thy gates
A guard of heav’n­ly war­ri­ors waits;
Nor shall thy deep foun­da­tions move,
Fixed on His coun­sels and His love.

Thy foes in vain de­signs en­gage,
Against His throne in vain they rage;
Like ris­ing waves, with an­gry roar,
That dash and die up­on the shore.

Then let our souls in Si­on dwell,
Nor fear the wrath of Rome and hell;
His arms em­brace this hap­py ground,
Like braz­en bul­warks built around.

God is our shield, and God our sun;
Swift as the fleet­ing mo­ments run,
On us He sheds new beams of grace,
And we re­flect His bright­est praise.