1 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 doth shake;
For in this weak unarmed wise
The gates of hell He will surprise.
2 With tears He fights and wins the field,
His tiny breast stands 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.
3 His camp is builded in a stall,
His bulwark but a broken wall,
The crib His trench, haystalks His stakes,
Of shepherds He His army makes;
And thus, as sure His foe to wound,
The angels' trumps the charge now sound.
4 My soul with Christ join thou in fight;
Stick to His tents, the place of might.
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 heav'nly Boy!
Source: Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary #162
Southwell, Robert, was b. at Horsham St. Faith, Norfolk, about 1561, educated at Paris and at Rome, and entered the Society of Jesus at Rome, Oct. 17, 1578. He spent part of his noviciate at Tournai in Belgium, but returned to Rome and completed his studies there. After being ordained priest in 1584, he returned to England in 1586. He was arrested in 1592 on the charge of high treason, committed to the Tower of London, formally tried at Westminster, Feb. 21, 1594-5, and executed the next day at Tyburn.
His Poetical Works were collected in 1856 by W. B. Turnbull, and re-edited in 1872 more completely and more carefully by Dr. A. B. Grosart, from the Add. manuscript 10422 in the British Museum, from a manuscript, perhaps autograph, at Stonyh… Go to person page >
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