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The BURNING
BABE
by Robert Southwell
As I in hoarie Winters night stoode shivering in the snow,
Surpris’d I was with sodaine heate, which made my hart to glow;
And lifting up a fearfull eye, to view what fire was neare,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the ayre appear;
Who scorchéd with excessive heate, such floods of teares did shed,
As though his floods should quench his flames, which with his
teares were bred;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 fuell wounding thornes:
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes, shames and scornes;
The fewell Justice layeth on, and Mercie blowes the coales,The mettall 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 calléd unto minde, that it was Christmasse day.
Robert Southwell, S.J. (1561-1595). Born in Norfolk, he studied in Douai; he joined the Jesuits and was sent to Rome to prepare for the priesthood. He was named to the English Mission by his own desire and returned to his native land in 1586. Arrested in 1592, he was tortured terribly on the rack for years and eventually was martyred at Tyburn on February 21, 1595. He was canonized by Pope Paul VI in 1970.