| AS I in hoary winter’s night |
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| Stood shivering in the snow, |
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| Surprised I was with sudden heat |
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| Which made my heart to glow; |
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| And lifting up a fearful eye |
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| To view what fire was near, |
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| A pretty babe all burning bright |
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| Did in the air appear; |
| Who, scorchèd with excessive heat, |
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| Such floods of tears did shed, |
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| As though His floods should quench His flames, |
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| Which with His tears were bred: |
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| ‘Alas!’ quoth He, ‘but newly born |
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| In fiery heats I fry, |
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| Yet none approach to warm their hearts |
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| Or feel my fire but I! |
| ‘My faultless breast the furnace is; |
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| The fuel, wounding thorns; |
| Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; |
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| The ashes, shames and scorns; |
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| The fuel Justice layeth on, |
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| And Mercy blows the coals, |
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| The metal in this furnace wrought |
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| Are men’s defilèd souls: |
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| For which, as now on fire I am |
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| To work them to their good, |
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| So will I melt into a bath, |
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| To wash them in my blood.’ |
| With this He vanish’d out of sight |
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| And swiftly shrunk away, |
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| And straight I callèd unto mind |
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| That it was Christmas Day. |
Jupe note: I read this poem every Christmas season.