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, scorchÈd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed,
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his
tears 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 this furnace wrought are men's defilÈd 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 Christmasday.

—R. Southwell