Journal

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 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 layette 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 (1561-1595)

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,

And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things!

Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;

Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.

Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might

To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,

Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light,

That doth both shine and give us sight to see.

O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide

In this small course which birth draws out to death;

And think how evil becometh him to slide

Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.

Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see;

Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.

Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)