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��Martin Lutjteu (14S3-154G). Tr. Thomas Cari.vi.e (1705-lSSl).

(Sin' fefle a3iirg ijl iinfer ®ott.

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.

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.

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 city of God remaineth.

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