Flit not from this heavenly Boy

Comments on Jennifer's post: "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.”
 Thanks. “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 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; / 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.” http://bit.ly/g9HZ0l
Your video about the manger reminded me of this. My mind is getting foggy. Else I would have sent the poem at your first mention of connecting this heavenly Boy with your new heavenly boy. (Audio at above link is disappointing.Partly because of Benjamin Brittans philosophy one supposes.)
Restriction of ordinary activity and nearness of death may enhance the focus of both mind and heart: "Southwell was then lodged in the Tower, but he was not brought to tria1 until February 1595. There is little doubt that much of his poetry, none of which was published during his lifetime, was written in prison." http://bit.ly/fk83vf