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.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vangard on the way,
As the Light on light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.
—Robert Southwell