THE BURNING BABE The Burning Babe is Fr. Southwell’s best-known poem – a dazzling image of the suffering infant Jesus on Christmas morning. It was written during his time at liberty in England and was much admired, particularly by the playwright Ben Jonson who said he would happily have destroyed much of his own work to have written it. 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 see what fire was near, A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear; Who scorched 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 heat 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 defiled 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 called unto mind, that it was Christmas day. Robert Southwell S.J. media.giphy/media/ThuvuM2IEQ14A/200.gif
Posted on: Sun, 11 Aug 2013 15:11:18 +0000
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