Thomas Carlyle's 1831 translation of Luther's Ein' feste Burg. I think I like these words better than the Mighty Fortress words we usually sing:
| 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. | 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. |
| 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. | 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. |
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are moderated. I will gladly approve any comment that responds directly and politely to what has been posted.