This Little Babe

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 breasts stands for a shield;
 His battering shots 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 shepards 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