The Burning Babe

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 veiw 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 fears were fed.

'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, shame and scorns.

'The fuel justice layeth on
      And mercy blows the coals,
The metal in the furnace wrought
      Are men's defiled souls;

'For which, as now on fire I am
      To work them to their good,
So till I melt into my bath
      To wash them in my blood.'

With this he vanished out of sight
      And swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I called unto mind
      That it was Christmas day.