New Heaven, New War Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEE FFGHII JJKKEE IILLMM NNOOMM PPMMQQ RRSSTT LLLLUU| Come to your heaven you heavenly choirs | A |
| Earth hath the heaven of your desires | B |
| Remove your dwelling to your God | C |
| A stall is now his best abode | D |
| Sith men their homage do deny | E |
| Come Angels all their fault supply | E |
| - | |
| His chilling cold doth heat require | F |
| Come Seraphins in lieu of fire | F |
| This little Ark no cover hath | G |
| Let Cherubs' wings his body swath | H |
| Come Raphael this Babe must eat | I |
| Provide our little Tobie meat | I |
| - | |
| Let Gabriel be now his groom | J |
| That first took up his earthly room | J |
| Let Michael stand in his defence | K |
| Whom love hath link'd to feeble sense | K |
| Let Graces rock when he doth cry | E |
| Let Angels sing his lullaby | E |
| - | |
| The same you saw in heavenly seat | I |
| Is he that now sucks Mary's teat | I |
| Agonize your King a mortal wight | L |
| His borrowed weed lets not your sight | L |
| Come kiss the manger where he lies | M |
| That is your bliss above the skies | M |
| - | |
| This little Babe so few days old | N |
| Is come to rifle Satan's fold | N |
| All hell doth at his presence quake | O |
| Though he himself for cold do shake | O |
| For in this weak unarmed wise | M |
| The gates of hell he will surprise | M |
| - | |
| With tears he fights and wins the field | P |
| His naked breast stands for a shield | P |
| His battering shot are babish cries | M |
| His arrows made of weeping eyes | M |
| His martial ensigns cold and need | Q |
| And feeble flesh his warrior's steed | Q |
| - | |
| His camp is pitched in a stall | R |
| His bulwark but a broken wall | R |
| The crib his trench hay stalks his stakes | S |
| Of shepherds he his muster makes | S |
| And thus as sure his foe to wound | T |
| The Angels' trumps alarum sound | T |
| - | |
| My soul with Christ join thou in fight | L |
| Stick to the tents that he hath dight | L |
| Within his crib is surest ward | L |
| This little Babe will be thy guard | L |
| If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy | U |
| Then flit not from the heavenly boy | U |
Robert Southwell
(1)
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