a mighty fortress is our God

text by Martin Luther; translated by Frederick H. Hedge

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 can 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.

O Love that wilt not let me go ...

1. 
   
2. O Love that wilt not let me go,
   I rest my weary soul in thee;
   I give thee back the life I owe,
   That in thine ocean depths its flow
   May richer, fuller be.
3. O light that foll’west all my way,
   I yield my flick’ring torch to thee;
   My heart restores its borrowed ray,
   That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
   May brighter, fairer be.
4. O Joy that seekest me through pain,
   I cannot close my heart to thee;
   I trace the rainbow through the rain,
   And feel the promise is not vain,
   That morn shall tearless be.
5. O Cross that liftest up my head,
   I dare not ask to fly from thee;
   I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
   And from the ground there blossoms red
   Life that shall endless be.

George Mattheson, 1882

ice storm

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me;

Still all my song shall be, nearer my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

There let the way appear steps unto heav'n;

All that Thou sendest me in mercy giv'n;

Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

Then, with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs, Bethel I'll raise;

So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly,

Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.

~Sarah Adams, 1841

cool breeze

It's still July, I remind myself as I sit in the park getting goosebumps.  A storm is blowing in over our quilt & books, and those who came for the free concert are looking about them, considering.

A man stands at the end of parked cars, hands lifted toward the setting sun, shoes on the grass beside him.  He prays, seeing more than we can.

The clouds lift till we think we're in the clear ... then heavy drops begin to dot our legs.

We fold the blanket and retreat, rolling windows against the rain.  White-haired women raise lawn chairs overhead, folded in lieu of umbrellas as they walk back to their neighboring homes.  The a cappella choir arrange themselves under a pavilion and carry on.  A remnant fills the picnic tables; some stand partly in the rain to hear the hymns.  The singers smile.

"Join in," the director gestures when they start Amazing Grace, and people do, in four-part harmony, effortless.  Mom with tiny daughter.  Young family.  Man with a cane.  Middle-aged couples.  Us.

After another song or two, we leave.  Drive through the country, stop for an ice cream cone with all the locals, the cloudburst over.

It's hot July, but a breeze is blowing through.