This little Babe so few days old,
Is come to rifle Satan's fold;
All hell doth at his presence quake,
Though he himself for cold do shake;
For in this weak unarmed wise
The gates of hell he will surprise.
With tears he fights and wins the field,
His naked breast stands for a shield;
His battering shot are babish cries,
His arrows made of weeping eyes,
His martial ensigns cold and need,
And feeble flesh his warrior's steed.
His camp is pitched in a stall,
His bulwark but a broken wall;
The crib his trench, haystalks his stakes,
Of shepherds he his muster makes;
And thus as sure his foe to wound,
The Angels' trumps alarum sound.
My soul with Christ join thou in fight,
Stick to the tents that he hath pight;
Within his crib is surest ward,
This little Babe will be thy guard;
If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,
Then flit not from this heavenly boy.
-Robert Southwell
4 comments:
I've been waiting and waiting for December to come so that I can post these lyrics. The battle imagery is lovely - "if thou wilt foil thy foes with joy, then flit not from this heavenly boy!" It's sung as a canon - there's a great version on itunes on an album titled Children's Christmas Classics. I sang this my freshman year of high school, and I recently heard it at another high school concert.
i actually really like that song, I'm singing it in choir and its good but hard, seriously, I can only sing some of the notes while standing up
I haven't thought of this song in a while, but I really love this song. It took my choir a long time to get it just right.
our choir did this song last year for competitons and it was amazing. i really liked it a lot.
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