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 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 fu­èl wound­ing thorns

Love is the fire

and sighs the smoke

The ash­es shame and scorn.

The fu­èl Jus­tice lay­eth on

And Mer­cy blows the coals

The me­tals 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 van­ished out of sight

And swift­ly shrunk away

And straight I call­èd un­to mind

That it was Christ­mas Day!