Ceremony of Carols

When I was in college I sang Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols. It was one of the highlights of my choral career. My favorite movement is This Little Babe, the lyrics from a 16th century poem by Robert Southwell. What images Southwell creates, and how well his words reflect a little understood truth that power does not always come in an expected form.

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 breast stands for a shield;
His battering shot are babish cries,
His arrows made 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;
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.

A Ceremony of Carols

Benjamin Britten took texts from "The English Galaxy of Shorter Poems", by Gerald Bullett for his popular Christmas work A Ceremony of Carols. This link features the full texts of the piece, including This Little Babe with the most wonderfully exciting phrase, "If thou wilt foil they foes with joy ..." Foil our foes with joy! Those are words to ponder.....