How hap­py are the lit­tle flock,
Who, safe be­neath their guard­ian Rock,
In all com­mo­tions rest!
When war’s and tu­mult’s waves run high,
Removed above the storm they lie,
They lodge in Je­sus’ breast,
They lodge in Je­sus’ breast.

Such hap­pi­ness, O Lord, have we,
By mer­cy ga­thered into Thee,
Before the floods des­cend:
And while the burst­ing clouds come down,
We mark the venge­ful day be­gun,
And calm­ly wait the end,
And calm­ly wait the end.

The plague, and dearth, and din of war,
Our Sav­ior’s swift ap­proach de­clare,
And bid our hearts arise;
Earth’s ba­sis shook con­firms our hope;
Its ci­ties’ fall but lifts us up,
To meet Thee in the skies,
To meet Thee in the skies.

Thy to­kens we with joy con­fess:
The war pro­claims the Prince of Peace,
The earth­quake speaks Thy pow­er,
The fa­mine all Thy full­ness brings,
The plague pre­sents Thy heal­ing wings,
And na­ture’s fi­nal hour,
And nature’s fi­nal hour.

Whatever ills the world be­fall,
A pledge of end­less good we call,
A sign of Je­sus near;
His cha­ri­ot will not long de­lay,
We hear the rum­bling wheels, and pray,
Triumphant Lord, ap­pear!
Triumphant Lord, ap­pear!

Appear with clouds on Zi­on’s hill,
Thy word and mys­te­ry to ful­fill,
Thy con­fess­ors to ap­prove,
Thy mem­bers on Thy throne to place,
And stamp Thy name on ev­ery face,
In glo­ri­ous, hea­ven­ly love!
In glo­ri­ous, hea­ven­ly love!