The sev'n-hill'd City, which the Tiber laves,
Though call'd eternal, shakes and is astound:
E'en its proud chief and priest, in sad affright,
Flees for his safety to a distant shore,
Lest falling temples on his head alight:
What is there stable 'mid this wild uproar?—
The Church heeds not the angry billows' shock;—
Thy Church, O Lord, is founded on a rock!
89. PSALM VIII.