Sunday's Hymn: A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

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 cru­el 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.

And though this world, with dev­ils filled,
Should threat­en to un­do us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed
His truth to tri­umph through us:
The Prince of Dark­ness grim,
We trem­ble not for him;
His rage we can en­dure,
For lo, his doom is sure,
One lit­tle word shall fell him.

That word above all earth­ly pow­ers,
No thanks to them, abid­eth;
The Spir­it and the gifts are ours
Through Him who with us sid­eth:
Let goods and kin­dred go,
This mor­tal life also;
The bo­dy they may kill:
God’s truth abid­eth still,
His king­dom is for­ev­er.

—Mar­tin Lu­ther

Sunday's Hymn: Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee

Joyful, joy­ful, we adore Thee,
God of glo­ry, Lord of love;
Hearts un­fold like flow­ers be­fore Thee,
Praising Thee, their sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sad­ness;
Drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of im­mor­tal glad­ness,
Fill us with the light of day!

All Thy works with joy sur­round Thee,
Earth and Heav’n re­flect Thy rays,
Stars and an­gels sing around Thee,
Center of un­brok­en praise:
Field and for­est, vale and mount­ain,
Blooming mea­dow, flash­ing sea,
Chanting bird and flow­ing fount­ain
Call us to re­joice in Thee.

Thou art giv­ing and for­giv­ing,
Ever bless­ing, ev­er blest,
Well-spring of the joy of liv­ing,
Ocean-depth of hap­py rest!
Thou our Fa­ther, Christ our bro­ther,
All who live in love are Thine:
Teach us how to love each oth­er,
Lift us to the joy di­vine.

Mortals, join the migh­ty chor­us,
Which the morn­ing stars be­gan;
Father-love is reign­ing o’er us,
Brother-love binds man to man.
Ever sing­ing march we on­ward,
Victors in the midst of strife,
Joyful mu­sic leads us sun­ward
In the tri­umph song of life.

—Hen­ry J. van Dyke

Sunday's Hymn: Of the Father's Love Begotten

Of the Father’s love begotten,
Ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega,
He the source, the ending He,
Of the things that are, that have been,
And that future years shall see,
Evermore and evermore.

At his word the worlds were framèd;
He commanded, it was done:
Heav’n and earth and depths of ocean,
In their threefold order one;
All that grows beneath the shining
Of the moon and burning sun—
Evermore and evermore.

He was found in human fashion,
Death and sorrow here to know,
That the race of Adam’s children,
Doomed by law to endless woe,
May not henceforth die and perish
In the dreadful gulf below—
Evermore and evermore.

O that birth forever blessèd,
When the virgin, full of grace,
By the Holy Ghost conceiving,
Bore the Savior of our race,
And the babe, the world’s Redeemer,
First revealed his sacred face—
Evermore and evermore.

This is he whom seers in old time
Chanted of with one accord,
Whom the voices of the prophets
Promised in their faithful word;
Now he shines, the long-expected;
Let creation praise its Lord—
Evermore and evermore.

O ye heights of Heav’n adore him!
Angel hosts his praises sing!
All dominions bow before him
And exalt our God and King.
Let no tongue on Earth be silent,
Every voice in concert ring—
Evermore and evermore.

Christ! to thee with God the Father,
And O Holy Ghost, to thee,
Hymn and chant and high thanksgiving
And unwearied praises be,
Honor, glory, and dominion,
And eternal victory—
Evermore and evermore.

—Aurelius Prudentius