The Fight

The accuser stood before my face
Spewing out his lies
Soiling every gift of grace
My conscience his disguise

He said the work wrought by God
Was not by God at all
But merely works of flesh and sod
Remaining from the fall

Battle-worn and weary
I resorted to the Psalms
And leaned upon my Savior’s breast
And rested in His arms

He graciously succored me
With wise and tender words
And muted Satan’s wretched voice
‘Til I no longer heard

Great and gracious loving Lord
Redeemer, Shepherd, King
I bow to You in gratitude
Your praises shall I sing