of Leipsic, which gave fresh heart and hope to the Protestants of Germany. It was sung on the morning of the battle of Lützen, under the following circumstances. When the morning of November 16, 1632, dawned, the Catholic and Protestant armies under Wallenstein and Gustavus Adolphus stood facing each other. Gustavus ordered all his chaplains to hold a service of prayer. He threw himself upon his knees and prayed fervently while the whole army burst out into a lofty song of praise and prayer:
"Verzage nicht, du Häuflein klein."
As they prayed and sang a mist descended, through which neither army could discern the foe. The King set his troops in battle array, giving them as their watchword "God with us." As he rode along the lines he ordered the kettledrums and trumpets to strike up Luther's hymns, "Ein' feste Burg" and "Es wollt uns Gott genädig sein." As they played, the soldiers joined in as with one voice. The mist began to lift, the sun shone bright, and Gustavus knelt again in prayer. Then, rising, he cried: "Now we will set to, please God," and then louder he said, "Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, help me this day to fight for the honor of Thy name!" Then he charged the enemy at full speed, defended only by a leathern gorget. "God is my harness," he replied to his servant, who rushed to put on his armor. The battle was hot and bloody. At eleven in the forenoon the fatal bullet struck Gustavus, and he sank dying from his horse, crying: "My God, my God!" The combat went on for hours afterwards, but when twilight fell Wallenstein's army broke and fled, and the dead King remained victor of the field on which with his life he had purchased the religious liberties of Northern Europe.
1Fear not, O little flock, the foe,
Who madly seeks your overthrow,
Dread not his rage and power;
What, tho' your courage sometimes faints,
His seeming triumph o'er God's saints
Lasts but a little hour.
2Be of good cheer,—your cause belongs
To Him who can avenge your wrongs,
Leave it to Him, our Lord.
Tho' hidden yet from all our eyes,
He sees the Gideon who shall rise
To save us, and His word.
3As true as God's own word is true,
Nor earth, nor hell, with all their crew,
Against us shall prevail,—
A jest and byword are they grown;
"God is with us," we are His own,
Our victory cannot fail.
4Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer!
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare;
Fight for us once again!
So shall Thy saints and martyrs raise
A mighty chorus to Thy praise,
World without end. Amen.
"ART THOU WEARY, ART THOU LANGUID?"
The Monastery of Mar Saba, founded before the Hegira of Mohammed, still stands on its ancient rock looking down upon the valley of the Kedron. Forty monks still inhabit the cells which cluster round the grave of St. Sabas, the founder, who died in 532, and still far below in the depths of the gorge the wolves and the jackals muster at morning light to eat the offal and refuse which the monks fling down below. In this monastic fortress lived, in the eighth century, a monk named Stephen, who, before he died, was gifted from on high with the supreme talent of embodying in a simple hymn so much of the essence of the divine life that came to the world through Christ Jesus that in this last decade of the nineteenth century no hymn more profoundly touches the heart and raises the spirits of Christian worshipers. Dr. Neale paraphrased this song of Stephen the Sabaite, so that this strain, originally raised on the stern ramparts of an outpost of Eastern Christendom already threatened with submersion beneath the flood of Moslem conquest, rings with ever-increasing volume of melodious sound through the whole wide world to-day:
1Art thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distrest?
"Come to me," saith One, "and coming,
Be at rest."
2Hath He marks to lead me to Him,
If He be my guide?
"In His feet and hands are wound-prints,
And His side."
3Is there diadem, as monarch,
That His brow adorns?
"Yes, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns!"
4If I find Him, if I follow,
What His guerdon here?
"Many a sorrow, many a labor,
Many a tear."
5If I still hold closely to Him,
What hath He at last?
"Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,
Jordan past!"
