New Heaven, New Warre

Come to your heaven, yowe heavenly quires!
Earth hath the heaven of your desires;
Remove your dwellinge to your God,
A stall is nowe His beste aboade;
Sith men their homage do denye,
Come, angells, all their fault supply.

His chilling could doth heate require,
Come, seraphins, in liew of fire;
This little ark no cover hath,
Let cherubs’ winges His boody swath;
Come, Raphiell, this babe must eate,
Prouide our little Tobie meate.

Let Gabriell be nowe His groome,
That first tooke upp His earthly roome;
Let Michell stand in His defence,
Whome love hath linckd to feeble sence;
Let Graces rocke, when He doth crye,
And angells singe His lullybye.

The same yow sawe in heavenly seate,
Is He that now suckes Marye’s teate;
Agnize your Kinge a mortall wighte,
His borowed weede letts not your sight;
Come, kysse the maunger where He lies;
That is your blisse aboue the skyes.

This little babe so fewe daies olde,
Is come to rifle Satan’s foulde;
All hell doth at His presence quake,
Though He Him self for cold do shake;
For in this weake unarmed wise
The gates of hell He will surprise.

With teares He fightes and wynnes the feild,
His naked breste standes for a sheilde,
His battering shott are babishe cryes,
His arrowes, lookes of weepinge eyes,
His martiall ensignes, colde and neede,
And feeble fleshe His warrier’s steede.

His campe is pitch’d in a stall,
His bulwarke but a broken wall,
The cribb His trench, hay-stalkes His stakes,
Of shepeherdes He His muster makes;
And thus, as sure His foe to wounde,
The angells’ trumpes alarum sounde.

My soule, with Christ joyne thow in fighte;
Sticke to the tents that He hath pight;
Within His cribb is sureste warde,
This little babe will be thy garde;
If thow wilt foyle thy foes with joye,
Then flitt not from this heavenly boye.