P.M. [833]Ein Feste Burg: Martin Luther, 1529 German; Martin Luther, 1529; Tr. Frederick H. Hedge, 1852 A mighty Fortress is our God, A Bulwark never failing; Our Helper he amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing: For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe; His craft and power are great, And, armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal. Did we in our own strength confide, Our striving would be losing; Were not the right man on our side, The man of God's own choosing: Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is he; Lord Sabaoth his Name, From age to age the same, And he must win the battle. And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us; We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us: The prince of darkness grim, We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure, For lo! his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him. That word above all earthly powers, No thanks to them, abideth; The Spirit and the gifts are ours Through him who with us sideth: Let goods and kindred go, This mortal life also; The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still, His kingdom is for ever. |