480 (2)Version 28 7. 8 7. 6 6. 6 6 7
A SAFE stronghold our God is still,
    A trusty shield and weapon;
He’ll help us clear from all the ill
    That hath us now o’ertaken.
        The ancient prince of hell
        Hath risen with purpose fell;
        Strong mail of craft and power
        He weareth in this hour;
    On earth is not his fellow.
2  With force of arms we nothing can,
    Full soon were we down-ridden;
But for us fights the proper Man
    Whom God Himself hath bidden.
        Ask ye: Who is this same?
        Christ Jesus is His name,
        The Lord Sabaoth’s Son;
        He, and no other one,
    Shall conquer in the battle.
3  And were this world all devils o’er,
    And watching to devour us,
We lay it not to heart so sore;
    Not they can overpower us.
        And let the prince of ill
        Look grim as e’er he will,
        He harms us not a whit:
        For why? His doom is writ;
    A word shall quickly slay him.
4  God’s word, for all their craft and force,
    One moment will not linger:
But spite of hell, shall have its course:
    ’Tis written by His finger.
        And though they take our life,
        Goods, honour, children, wife,
        Yet is their profit small:
        These things shall vanish all;
    The city of God remaineth.
Martin Luther, 1483-1546,
tr Thomas Carlyle, 1795-1881