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Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By III. “A Fortress sure is God our King”

Godfrey Thring (1823–1894)

(Martin Luther)

A FORTRESS sure is God our King,

A Shield that ne’er shall fail us,

His sword alone shall succour bring,

When evil doth assail us;

With craft and cruel hate

Doth Satan lie in wait,

And, armed with deadly power,

Seeks whom he may devour;

On earth where is his equal?

O who shall then our champion be,

Lest we be lost for ever?

One sent by God,—from sin ’tis He

The sinner shall deliver;

And dost thou ask His Name?

’Tis Jesus Christ,—the Same

Of Sabaoth the Lord,

The Everlasting Word,—

’Tis He must win the battle.

God’s word remaineth ever sure,

(To us no merit owing,)

The Spirit’s gifts—of sin the cure—

Each day He is bestowing;

Though naught we love be left,

Of all, e’en life, bereft;

Yet what shall Satan gain?

God’s kingdom doth remain,

And shall be ours for ever.