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A safe stronghold oar God is still, A trusty shield and weapon

A safe stronghold oar 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.

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 Sabbath’s Son;
He, and no other one,
Shall conquer in the battle.

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.

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 citv of God remaineth.

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