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Benjamin Britten
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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 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. 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网 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!
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