Scripture Verse

In the Lord put I my trust: How say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain? Psalm 11:1


Words: Al­ice B. Wood, 1901.

Music: Ack­worth M. B. Will­is (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pho­to of Wood or Will­is (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


To the rock flies the cony, the stork to her nest,
When tempests are gathering and black is the west;
So swift, by life’s trials o’erwhelmed and oppressed,
I fly to my refuge, Je­ho­vah, my rest!

The nest, whither speedeth the storm beaten bird,
Aloft, on the fir top by tempests is stirred;
But the nest of my refuge no storm wind can smite;
’Tis the breast of Je­ho­vah; I’m safe from afright.

The rock where the cony securely may hide
Is set in the mountain’s cold, pitiless side;
But the rock of my safety, the home of my quest,
’Tis the heart of my Sav­ior: How warm and how blest!

Then blow, thou wild tempest, I fear not thy might,
Tho’ blackly thou lowerest, my prospect is bright;
Jehovah, my Sav­ior, I fly to Thy breast;
Dear rock of my refuge! Dear sheltering nest!