Count Arensberg; or, The days of Martin Luther, 2

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˹ 187 - 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.
˹ 307 - Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott, Ein' gute Wehr und Waffen, Er hilft uns frei aus aller Not, Die uns jetzt hat betroffen. Der alt' böse Feind Mit Ernst er's jetzt meint; Groß' Macht und viel List Sein' grausam Rüstung ist, Auf Erd
˹ 307 - Und kein' Dank dazu haben. Er ist bei uns wohl auf dem Plan Mit seinem Geist und Gaben.
˹ 307 - Mit unsrer Macht ist nichts getan, Wir sind gar bald verloren, Es streit't für uns der rechte Mann, Den Gott selbst hat erkoren. Fragst du, wer er ist? Er heißt Jesus Christ, Der Herr Zebaoth, Und ist kein andrer Gott, Das Feld muß er behalten.
˹ 187 - 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.
˹ 186 - A safe 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...
˹ 302 - I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was no man that would know me: refuge failed me; no man cared for my soul.
˹ 186 - 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, !N"ot they can overpower us. And let the Prince of...
˹ 195 - 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, One little word shall slay him.
˹ 272 - Seated behind the fire of hell, and folding his arms, with malignant glance and horrid leer, Satan says, ' How good it is in yonder madmen to play into my hands.' But only let him see the Word of the Lord circulating, and working its way unaided on the field of the world, and at once he is disturbed at his work, his knees smite each other, he trembles, and is ready to die with fear.

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