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, scorched 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 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 vanish'd out of sight 
   And swiftly shrunk away, 
And straight I called unto mind 
   That it was Christmas Day.