This Little Babe Lyrics

Benjamin Britten This Little Babe

This little babe
so few days old
is come to rifle
Santan's fold

All hell doth at
his presence quake
though he himself for
cold do shake

For in this weak
un armed 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 looks of
weeping eyes

His martial en sings
Cold a Need
and feeble Flesh his
war rior's steed.

His camp is pitched
in a stall
his bulwark but a
boken 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 la rum sound

My soul with Christ
join thou in fight
stick to the tents
that he hath pight

With in his crib
is surest ward
This Little Babe
will be thy guard

If thou wilt foil
foes with joy then
flit not from this
heavenly Boy!