Lyrics for the song:
A Safe Stronghold Our God is Still

As safe a 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.

As safe a 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.