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.