Our God, our help in ages past,
    Our hope for years to come,
  Be thou our guard while troubles last,
    And our eternal home.

ISAAC WATTS.

* * * * *

A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD.

    “EIN’ FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT.”

  A mighty fortress is our God,
    A bulwark never failing;
  Our helper he amid the flood
    Of mortal ills prevailing. 
  For still our ancient foe
  Doth seek to work us woe;
  His craft and power are great,
  And, armed with equal hate,
    On earth is not his equal.

  Did we in our own strength confide,
    Our striving would be losing;
  Were not the right man on our side,
    The man of God’s own choosing. 
  Dost ask who that may be? 
  Christ Jesus, it is he,
  Lord Sabaoth his name,
  From age to age the same,
    And he must win the battle.

From the German of MARTIN LUTHER.

Translation of FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.

* * * * *

DELIGHT IN GOD.

  I love, and have some cause to love, the earth,—­
    She is my Maker’s creature, therefore good;
  She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
    She is my tender nurse, she gives me food: 
    But what’s a creature, Lord, compared with thee? 
    Or what’s my mother or my nurse to me?

  I love the air,—­her dainty sweets refresh
    My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
  Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh,
    And with their polyphonian notes delight me: 
    But what’s the air, or all the sweets that she
    Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee?

  I love the sea,—­she is my fellow-creature,
    My careful purveyor; she provides me store;
  She walls me round; she makes my diet greater;
    She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore: 
    But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee,
    What is the ocean or her wealth to me?

  To heaven’s high city I direct my journey,
    Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
  Mine eye, by contemplation’s great attorney,
    Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky: 
    But what is heaven, great God, compared to thee? 
    Without thy presence, heaven’s no heaven to me.

  Without thy presence, earth gives no refection;
    Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure;
  Without thy presence, air’s a rank infection;
    Without thy presence, heaven’s itself no pleasure: 
    If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee,
    What’s earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me?

  The highest honors that the world can boast
    Are subjects far too low for my desire;
  The brightest beams of glory are, at most,
    But dying sparkles of thy living fire;
    The loudest flames that earth can kindle be
    But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee.