Sunday Hymn: O Word of God Incarnate

O Word of God incarnate,
O Wisdom from on high,
O Truth, unchanged, unchanging,
O Light of our dark sky!
We praise Thee for the radiance
That from the hallow’d page,
A lantern to our footsteps,
Shines on from age to age.

The Church from her dear Master
Received the gift divine,
And still that light she lifteth
O’er all the earth to shine.
It is the golden casket
Where gems of truth are stored,
It is the heaven-drawn picture
Of Christ, the living Word.

It floateth like a banner
Before God’s host unfurl’d;
It shineth like a beacon
Above the darkling world;
It is the chart and compass
That o’er life’s surging sea,
Mid mists and rocks and quicksands,
Still guides, O Christ, to Thee.

O make Thy Church, dear Saviour,
A lamp of burnish’d gold,
To bear before the nations
Thy true light as of old;
O teach Thy wandering pilgrims
By this, their path to trace,
Till, clouds and darkness ended,
They see Thee face to face.

—William W. How

Sunday's Hymn: A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

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 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.

—Mar­tin Lu­ther

Sunday's Hymn: Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee

Joyful, joy­ful, we adore Thee,
God of glo­ry, Lord of love;
Hearts un­fold like flow­ers be­fore Thee,
Praising Thee, their sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sad­ness;
Drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of im­mor­tal glad­ness,
Fill us with the light of day!

All Thy works with joy sur­round Thee,
Earth and Heav’n re­flect Thy rays,
Stars and an­gels sing around Thee,
Center of un­brok­en praise:
Field and for­est, vale and mount­ain,
Blooming mea­dow, flash­ing sea,
Chanting bird and flow­ing fount­ain
Call us to re­joice in Thee.

Thou art giv­ing and for­giv­ing,
Ever bless­ing, ev­er blest,
Well-spring of the joy of liv­ing,
Ocean-depth of hap­py rest!
Thou our Fa­ther, Christ our bro­ther,
All who live in love are Thine:
Teach us how to love each oth­er,
Lift us to the joy di­vine.

Mortals, join the migh­ty chor­us,
Which the morn­ing stars be­gan;
Father-love is reign­ing o’er us,
Brother-love binds man to man.
Ever sing­ing march we on­ward,
Victors in the midst of strife,
Joyful mu­sic leads us sun­ward
In the tri­umph song of life.

—Hen­ry J. van Dyke