When I take the Spirit’s sword;
Then, with ease, I drive him from me;
Satan trembles at the word:
’Tis a sword for conquest made,
Keen the edge, and strong the blade.
6 Shall I envy, then, the miser,
Doating on his golden store?
Sure I am, or should be, wiser;
I am rich—’tis he is poor:
Jesus gives me in his word,