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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!
First Line: | This little Babe so few days old |
Title: | This Little Babe So Few Days Old |
Author: | Robert Southwell |
Meter: | 8.8.8.8.8.8 |
Language: | English |
Notes: | Hymn text, suggested tune HEUT TRIUMPHIERET GOTTES SOHN |
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Instances (1 - 1 of 1) | Title | First Line | Tune | Tune Key | Author | Meter | Scripture | Date | Subject | Source | ![]() | ![]() | ![]() | ![]() | ![]() | ![]() | ![]() |
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Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary #162 | This Little Babe So Few Days Old | This little Babe so few days old | R. Southwell, c. 1561-96 | 88 88 88 | 1996 | God's Protection | ; Christmas 2 | | ![]() | ![]() |