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This little Babe
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This little babe so few days old,
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is come to rifle Satan's hold;
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All hell doth at his presence quake,
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though he himself for cold doth shake;
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For in this weak unarmed wise
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the gates of hell he will surprise.
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With tears he fights and wins the field,
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his naked breast stands for a shield.
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His battering shot are babish cries,
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his arrows looks of weeping eyes.
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His martial ensigns Cold and Need,
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and feeble flesh his warrior's steed.
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His camp is pitched in a stall,
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his bulwark but a broken wall;
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The crib his trench, haystalks his stakes,
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of shepherds he his muster makes.
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And thus as sure his foe to wound,
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the angels' trumps alarum sound
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My soul with Christ join thou in fight;
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stick to the tents that he hath pight.
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Within his crib is surest ward;
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this little Babe will be thy guard.
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If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,
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than flit not from this heavenly boy.
Britten's Ceremony of carols : This litt...
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