The Conies are a feeble folk
Yet they make their dwelling
A high and vaunted fortress
Far away from Satanic shelling

The conies are a simple folk
But they are wiser than most
For knowing their weakness seek
A great shield as their host

The Conies are on to something
When they see the Rock as home
For David looked to hills
When he needed help to come

He wished to be hid in a cleft
Till the storm passed
A parting in the side
Pierced by sin-spears massed

This redoubt created for us
Can hide a mass of sinners
A Shelter to turn those running
Helter-Skelter into winners

Those within have defeated sin
Not altogether by feeble exertions
But ordinary folk have found
A rampart against Satan’s accusations