The Burning Babe

By Robert Southwell

1561-1595


AS I in hoary winter's night
         Stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat
         Which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye
         To view what fire was near,
A pretty babe all burning bright
         Did in the air appear;
Who, scorched 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 born
         In fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts
         Or 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 defiled souls:
For which, as now on fire I am
         To 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 called unto mind
         That it was Christmas Day.

DayPoems Poem No. 111
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/111.html">The Burning Babe by Robert Southwell</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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