The Burning Babe, a Beloved (By Me) Christmas Tradition on This Blog

So I'm signing off for Christmas, and for 2025, with my now-traditional post of "The Burning Babe" by St. Robert Southwell.

(Mind you, I feel a little like a guy working alone in a basement who puts up Christmas decorations for himself, because I've never had the faintest indication that anyone else gives a hoot about this tradition of mine, now a decade old. Oh well.)

Here are my previous posts on the poem, including commentary on it:

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2015/12/more-seasonal-poetry.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2016/12/a-smoking-hot-babe-for-christmas.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2017/12/a-christmas-repeat.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2018/12/a-smoking-hot-babe-for-christmas-again.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2019/12/happy-christmas.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2020/12/a-smoking-hot-babe-for-christmas-again.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2021/12/burn-baby-burn.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2022/12/theres-baby-on-fire.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2023/12/the-burning-babe-with-sting-in-tale.html

https://irishpapist.blogspot.com/2024/12/a-hoary-christmas-tide-tradition.html

And here is the poem itself:

The Burning Babe by St. Robert Southwell

As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,

Surpris’d 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 fed.

“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 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 vanish’d out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,

And straight I calléd unto mind that it was Christmas Day.

So happy Christmas to everybody and thank you for reading, and especially for commenting-- comments are always hugely encouraging and welcome, much more than you might think. Otherwise I have no idea if anyone is reading or is interested.

(I will probably have very limited internet access over the holidays, so please forgive any tardiness in responding to emails, etc.)