A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

A mighty fortress is our God, A bulwark never failing; Our shelter He, amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe; His craft and pow'r 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 is His name, From age to age the same, And He must win the battle.

And tho' 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 pow'rs—No thanks to them—abideth: The Spirit and the gifts are ours Thro' 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 forever.