O TFORD T UNE

When firm I stand on Zion's hill,
And view my starry crown,
No pow'r on earth my hope can shake,
Nor hell can pluck me down.

The lofty hills and stately tow'rs,
That lift their heads so high,
Shall all be levell'd in the dust;
Their very names shall die.

The vaulted heav'ns shall melt away,
Built by Jehovah's hands;
But firmer than the heav'ns the rock
Of my salvation stands.