My trust is in the Lord;
What foe can in­jure me?
Why bid me like a bird
Before the fowl­er flee?
The Lord is on His heav’n­ly throne,
Omnipotent to save His own.

The wick­ed may as­sail,
The tempt­er sore­ly try,
All earth’s foun­da­tions fail,
All na­ture’s springs be dry;
Yet God is in His ho­ly shrine,
And I am strong while He is mine.

His flock to Him is dear,
He watch­es them from high;
He sends them tri­als here
To fit them for the sky:
But safe­ly will He tend and keep
The hum­blest, feeb­lest of His sheep.

His foes a sea­son here
May tri­umph and pre­vail;
But ah, the hour is near
When all their hopes must fail:
While like the sun His saints shall rise,
And shine with Him above the skies.