God's Word Sword of the Spirit

O Lord, we hear War is proclaim'd,
And we engaged are
To fight with thee, and in these Wars,
To take our proper share.

The Enemy is cruel strong,
And will no quarter give;
And threatens us both old and young,
We shan't much longer live:

Thou didst o'recome him formerly,
He rallies up again.
His scatter'd force, and we espy
We fight must or be slain.

O let us have thy mighty Sword!
O there is none like it!
If in our hearts we have thy Word,
We'll bring them to our feet.

A Sword all Souldiers must have on,
So ev'ry Saint must have
Thy Word to fight with, or else they
Will soon their Souls inslave.

A Sword doth not only defend
The Souldier in the Field,
But by it he makes Foes to bend,
And unto him to yield:

So doth thy Word, O holy Lord,
Save us, and yet annoys,
All cruel Foes, it brings them down,
Nay them it quite destroys.

The Second Part.

It a two edged Sword is too,
It wounds always with one,
And with the other it does heal
Likewise e're it has done;

By its sharp threats it wounds the Soul,
But turn it then again,
It's Promises does make us whole,
And eases every pain:

It will cut off an hand or foot,
Dismember the old Man;
If we do not destroy his Life,
We live, Lord, never can.

Wounds of a Sword do mortal prove
If once it pierce the heart;
So let thy Word, Lord, hit our sin,
A mortal wound impart.

A Sword doth often fright a Foe,
So that he cowardly
Beholding it, away doth go,
Nay, swift perhaps does fly;

Even so that Soul who hath thy Word
Drawn always in his Hand,
Doth make his Enemies to run,
A Battel will not stand.

The Third Part.

Thy Word is a victorious thing,
A Weapon which oft does
Such execution by thy strength,
Great Armies it o'rethrows.

It must be us'd with greatest skill,
And by a pow'rful hand;
'Tis by thy Spirit we do kill
All Foes who us withstand.

No Hand but that this Sword can wield,
The Spirit gives the blow,
We by them both do win the Field,
And Enemies o'rethrow.

The Spirit doth thy Word explain,
'Twas forg'd and given forth
Even by himself, and therefore he
The chiefest glory hath.

The efficacy of thy Word,
Does in thy Spirit lye,
It an impression ne're will make,
If he don't it apply.

All praise do ye give unto God
Who do its power feel;
Ah! 'tis a Sword that doth excell
The richest made with Steel.

The Fourth Part.

Ye Saints hold fast besure your Sword,
and rather die o'th' spot
Than to be cheated of God's Word;
For should it be your lot

It for to lose, you naked are
And will become a prey
Unto the bloody Church of Rome
The very self same day:

And see you have skill it to use
When you with Foes do meet,
Or else you never will prevail
To bring them to your feet:

And always bless the holy God
Who doth to us afford
The blessed Scriptures of Truth,
Prize it with one accord.