Benjamin Britten - This Little Babe lyrics

Benjamin Britten Miscellaneous This Little Babe This little bab 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 week unarmed wise The gates of hell he will surprise With tears he fights and wins the field His naked breast stads for a shield His battering shot are babish cries His arrows looks 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 a larum 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 by thy guard If thou wilt foil thy Foes with joy, then Flit not from this Heavenly boy!