With Joy We Meditate the Grace

1. With joy we meditate the grace
Of our High Priest above:
His heart is filled with tenderness—
His very name is Love!

2. Touched with a sympathy within,
He knows our feeble frame—
He knows what sorest trials mean,
For He has felt the same!

3. But spotless, undefiled undefiled,
and pure Our great Redeemer stood:
No stain of sin did e’er defile
The holy Lamb of God.

4. He, when He sojourned here below,
Poured out His cries and tears,
And now, ascended, feels afresh
What ev’ry member bears!

5. Then boldly let our faith address
The throne of grace and pow’r:
We shall obtain deliv’ring grace
In ev’ry needy hour.

Isaac Watts, 1674-1748

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

1. 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 pow’r are great,
And, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

2. 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.

3. And tho’ this world, with devils filled,
Should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed
His truth to triumph thro’ 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.

4. That word above all earthly pow’rs,
No thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours
Thro’ 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, 1483-1546

Trans. By Frederick H. Hedge, 1805-1890

What Sacred Fountain Yonder Springs

1. What sacred fountain yonder springs
Up from the throne of God,
And all new cov’nant blessings brings?
‘Tis Jesus’ precious blood.

2. What mighty sum paid all my debt
When I a bondman stood,
And has my soul at freedom set?
‘Tis Jesus’ precious blood.

3. What stream is that which sweeps away
My sins just like a flood,
Nor lets one guilty blemish stay?
‘Tis Jesus’ precious blood.

4. What voice is that which speaks for me
In heav’n’s high court for good,
And from the curse has made me free?
‘Tis Jesus’ precious blood.

5. What theme, my soul, shall best employ
Thy harp before thy God,
And make all heav’n to ring with joy?
‘Tis Jesus’ precious blood.

William J. Irons, 1812-1883