Scripture Verse

We will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Psalm 46:2–3


Words: Charles Wes­ley, Hymns Oc­ca­sioned by the Earth­quake, March 8, 1750, Part 2 (Lon­don: Stra­han, 1750), num­ber 9.

Music: Cal­va­ry (Tur­vey) Tho­mas Tur­vey, in the Me­tho­dist Hymn and Tune Book (To­ron­to, Ca­na­da: Me­tho­dist Book & Pub­lish­ing House, 1894), num­ber 325 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Tur­vey (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

Charles Wesley (1707–1788)


How weak the thoughts, and vain,
Of self-de­lud­ing men!
Men who, fixed to earth alone,
Think their hous­es shall endure,
Fondly call their lands their own,
To their dis­tant heirs secure.

Let us in God con­fide,
They for them­selves pro­vide,
Lasting set­tlements they make,
Prudently their views ex­tend,
Thought for fu­ture ages take,
Live, as time would ne­ver end.

How soon may God re­buke
Their fol­ly with a look!
Caused by the Al­migh­ty’s frown,
When the sud­den earth­quake comes,
Then their hopes are tum­bled down,
Then their hous­es are their tombs.

Their lands al­as! And they,
Are swept at once away,
Gaping earth re­ceives them all,
Swallows up the na­tion’s boast;
See the pride of ag­es fall,
In a fa­tal moment lost!

How hap­py then are we,
Who build, O Lord, on Thee;
What can our foun­da­tion shock?
Though the shat­tered earth re­move,
Stands our ci­ty on a rock,
On the Rock of hea­ven­ly love.

A house we call our own
Which can­not be o’er­thrown;
In the ge­ne­ral ru­in sure,
Storms and earth­quakes it de­fies;
Built im­mov­ab­ly se­cure,
Built eter­nal in the skies.

High on Im­ma­nu­el’s land
We see the fab­ric stand:
From a tot­ter­ing world re­move
To our stead­fast man­sion there;
Our in­he­ri­tance above
Cannot pass from heir to heir.

Those ama­ran­thine bow­ers,
Inalienably ours,
Bloom, our in­fi­nite re­ward,
Rise, our per­ma­nent abode;
From the found­ed world pre­pared;
Purchased by the blood of God.

O might we quick­ly find
The place for us de­signed;
See the long ex­pect­ed day
Of our full re­demp­tion here;
Let the sha­dows flee away,
Let the new made world ap­pear!

High on Thy great white throne,
O King of saints, come down!
In the new Je­ru­sa­lem
Now tri­um­phant­ly des­cend;
Let the fi­nal trump pro­claim
Joys be­gun which ne’er shall end!