As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, <br />Surpris'd I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow; <br />And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, <br />A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear; <br />Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed <br />As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed. <br />"Alas!" quoth he, "but newly born, in fiery heats I fry, <br />Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I! <br />My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns, <br />Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns; <br />The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals, <br />The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls, <br />For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good, <br />So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood." <br />With this he vanish'd out of sight and swiftly shrunk away, <br />And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day.<br /><br />St. Robert Southwell SJ<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-burning-babe-2/
