I just took my one and only final of the semester, my final final... after sleeping a 5 hour night. I get sort of proud of myself when I stay up late to study because I just don't live up the college life all that much. Though I'm half afraid a professor will email me at some point this week saying, "Hey you're the only student who didn't turn in a term paper. What's up?"... I am pretty sure that's irrational. Funny since Albert Ellis, resident rational thinker himself, has been my companion for the past 24 hours.
As I took my test, this battle song 'raged' through my mind... leftover from a joyous Christmas concert at church last night. I love the truthful irony Robert Southwell used in composing this ancient(ish) cannon--{1500s, ancient?}. Enjoy!
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.
P.S. Try singing those last two lines on stage without giggling...
P.P.S. Image=Peaceful Rain by Daniel Wall... found it an am feelin' it.
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