The burning Babe

As I in hoarie Winters night stoode shivering in the snow,
Surpris'd I was with sodaine heat which made my hart to glow ;
And lifting up a fearefull eye, to view what fire was neare,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the ayre appeare ;
Who, scorched with excessive heate, such floods of teares did shed,
As though his floods should quench his flames, which with his teares were fed:
Alas (quoth he) but newly borne, in fierie heates I frie,
Yet none approach to warme their harts or feele my fire, but I;
My faultlesse breast the furnace is, the fewell wounding thornes:
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoake, the ashes, shame and scornes ;
The fewell Justice layeth on, and Mercie blows the coales,
The metall in this furnace wrought, are mens defiled soules:
For which, as now on fire I am to worke them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood.
With this he vanisht out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I callede unto minde that it was Christmasse day.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL [1592]