Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918/The Burning Babe

by Robert Southwell

For other versions of this work, see The Burning Babe.

As I in hoary winter’s night Stood shivering in the snow,Surprised I was with sudden heatWhich made my heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eyeTo view what fire was near,A pretty babe all burning brightDid in the air appear;Who, scorchèd with excessive heat,Such floods of tears did shed,As though His floods should quench His flames,Which with His tears were bred:‘Alas!’ quoth He, ‘but newly bornIn fiery heats I fry,Yet none approach to warm their heartsOr feel my fire but I!

‘My faultless breast the furnace is;The fuel, wounding thorns;Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke;The ashes, shames and scorns;The fuel Justice layeth on,And Mercy blows the coals,The metal in this furnace wrought Are men’s defilèd souls:For which, as now on fire I amTo work them to their good,So will I melt into a bath,To wash them in my blood.’ With this He vanish’d out of sight And swiftly shrunk away,And straight I callèd unto mindThat it was Christmas Day.