1 A mighty fortress is our God,
A trusty shield and weapon;
Our help is He in all our need,
Our stay, whate'er doth happen;
For still our ancient foe
Doth seek to work us woe:
Strong mail of craft and power
He weareth in this hour;
On earth is not his equal.

2 Stood we alone in our own might,
Our striving would be losing;
For us the one true Man doth fight,
The Man of God's own choosing.
Who is this chosen One?
'Tis Jesus Christ, the Son.
The Lord of hosts, 'tis He
Who wins the victory
In ev'ry field of battle.

3 And were the world with devils filled,
All watching to devour us,
Our souls to fear we need not yield,
They cannot overpower us;
Their dreaded prince no more
Can harm us as of yore;
His rage we can endure;
For lo! his doom is sure,
A word shall overthrow him.