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This Little Babe
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Benjamin Britten
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Benjamin Britten
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Miscellaneous
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This Little Babe
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This little babe just three days old,
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Is come to rival Satan's hold
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All hell doth at his presence quake,
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though he himself for cold do shake;
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For in this weak unarmored 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
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join thou in fight;
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stick to the tents
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that he hath pight.
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Within his crib
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is surest ward;
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this little Babe
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will by thy guard.
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If thou wilt foil thy
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foes with joy, then
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flit not from this
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heavenly boy!
Britten's Ceremony of carols : This litt...
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