Four mortal foes we have. The first is sin,
     Not others’ but our own. The next is less,
Yet great in power, Satan, not within,
     But hurling accusation and distress.

The third is sickness with its wasting pain.
     The fourth is sabotage, the mob, the man
Of malice. Ah, but we have more: in vain
     They rage! Poor sin, undone by heaven’s plan,

Blood-covered. Satan’s damning case all spent
     On Christ. Blind sickness brings endless weight
Of glory. Futile sabotage, lament!
     If God is for us, what will be your fate?

So say with me, Noël, my love, “Away all fear!”
Let us be brave and happy for another year.