Stand Alone Pages on 'Musings of an Old Curmudgeon'

25 December 2021

St Robert Southwell's 'The Burning Babe - A Christmas Poem

St Robert Southwell, SJ, a Seminary Priest and one of the Forty Martyrs of England and Wales, was hanged at Tyburn on 21 February 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, scorchèd 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 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 callèd unto mind
That it was Christmas Day.

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