V.

A Mighty Fortress is Our God.

HERE are two hymns which stand alone as having changed the course of two great Nations-Ein feste Burg, the triumphant war-cry of the German Reformation; and The Marseillaise, the blood-stirring song of the French Revolution. In the mightiness of their influence these hymns have never been equaled.

The Reformation marks the beginning of the richest hymnology in the world. The German love for music antedated Luther's time, but the Church being then dominated by Rome, hymn-singing in the vernacular was discouraged, and hence hymns filled an exceedingly small place in public worship.

This was the state of Church-song in Germany when Luther was born in Eisleben, in 1483. While in childhood the poor miner's son sang from door to door in his native village, and then, and always, his soul was overflowing with music. He was as pious as he was musical, and it was no wonder that in time he took himself to a monastery, and became a self-tormented monk. His rule of life while there is expressed in his own sentence: "If ever a monk got to heaven by monkery, I was determined to get there." But the day soon came when Luther craved emancipation from the horrible darkness in which

he lived, and from the terrible slavery to Pharisaism in which he was placed. He was thirty-four years old when he nailed to the Church door at Wittenberg, the ninety-five theses on the doctrine of indulgences; and three years later the climax of his courage was reached when he publicly burned the Papal bull of excommunication.

After Luther gave the German people a translation of the Bible, he abolished the monotonous chants of medieval times, and substituted German hymns for Latin hymns and sequences. One day in writing to his friend and fellow-laborer, Georg Spalatin, Luther said: "It is my intention, after the example of the fathers, to make German psalms for the people; that is to say, spiritual songs, whereby the Word of God may be kept alive among them by singing. We seek, therefore, everywhere for poets. Now as you are such a master of the German tongue, and are so mighty and eloquent therein, I entreat you to join hands with us in this work, and to turn one of the Psalms into a hymn according to the pattern (i. e. an attempt of my own), that I send you. But I desire that all new-fangled words from the Court should be left out; that the words may be quite plain and common, such as common people may understand, yet pure, and skillfully handled; and next, that the meaning should be given clearly and graciously, according to the sense of the Psalm itself."

Luther was a fine singer and a skilled composer;

and possessing a magnetic enthusiasm in urging congregational singing, he gave a marvelous impulse to the business of hymn-writing and the joy of hymnsinging. One year before Luther's death, Spangenberg said: "It is true and will remain true, that among all master-singers from the days of the Apostles until now, Luther is and always will be the best and most accomplished; in whose hymns and songs one does not find a vain or needless word."

The first hymn-book of the Reformation, which in reality was the first of all printed hymn-books, was published at Wittenberg in 1524, seven years after Luther nailed the theses to the door of the Church in that city. It contained eight hymns with tunes, and four of them were by Luther. Ein feste Burg was not in the collection, but followed in the course of five or six years. The translation of the hymn usually found in the hymnals of American Churches, was made by Dr. Frederic Henry Hedge, for many years professor of German literature and Ecclesiastical history at Harvard University. His version appeared in 1853, while he was pastor of a Unitarian Church at Providence, Rhode Island, and is as follows:

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 is 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 shall 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.

I append a translation by Thomas Carlyle, made in 1831, which English critics regard as more faithful and forceful than any other version in the English language. He considers Ein feste Burg the world's most powerful hymn, and though it "may jar upon English ears, there is something in it like the sound of Alpine avalanches, or the first murmur of earthquakes:"

A sure stronghold our God is He.
A trusty shield and weapon;
Our help He'll be, and set us free
From every ill can happen.
That old malicious foe
Intends us deadly woe;

Armed with might from hell

And deepest craft as well,

On earth is not his fellow.

Through our own force we nothing can,
Straight were we lost forever;
But for us fights the proper man

By God sent to deliver.

Ask ye who this may be?
Christ Jesus named is He;
Of Sabaoth the Lord;
Sole God to be adored;
"Tis He must win the battle.

And were the world with devils filled,
All eager to devour us,

Our souls to fear should little yield,
They cannot overpower us.

Their dreaded prince no more
Can harm us as of yore;
Look grim as e'er he may,

Doomed is his ancient sway;

A word can overthrow 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, honor, children, wife;

Yet is there profit small:
These things shall vanish all:

The city of God remaineth.