My Hiding-place

Saviour, when the winds of might
Wake the quiet of the night;
When around me waters foam,
And I wander far from home:
In Thy never-failing grace
O be Thou my hiding-place.
When the thunders rend the ear;
When the gloom is fraught with fear;
When the tempests lift the voice,
And in razzias rejoice:
Be my covert true and tried,
Give me shelter by Thy side.
When I thro’ this wildering waste
To my home in heaven haste;
When my soul is parched and dry,
And I ready am to die:
Make in grace a crystal tide
Thro’ this Rephadim to glide.
When I weary with the way,
And the burning sun by day,
Rays devouring, ruthless shed,
Pours on my defenceless head:
Be the Rock to which I run,
Safe from scorching sand and sun.
Troubles come with flying feet:
What have I yet got to meet,
Only unto Thee is known,
But let it be mirth or moan:
In Thy mercy, love, and grace,
Be Thou then my hiding-place.