The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of
Lisieux, online
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POEMS
of
SR. TERESA, Carmelite of Lisieux,
known as
The “Little Flower of Jesus,”
“Thou, O Lord, hast been the only object of my
songs in the place of my pilgrimage.”
Translated by S.L. EMERY,
Author of the “Inner Life of the Soul.”
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
INTRODUCTION.
MARIE FRANCOISE-THERESE MARTIN, daughter of Louis-Joseph-Stanislaus and Zelie (Guerin) Martin, was born in Alencon, France, January 2, 1873. She was the youngest of nine children, four of whom died in infancy, and of the five others, four became Carmelite nuns. Therese, a singularly precocious, charming and beautiful child set her heart upon entering the convent at the age of fifteen. Her wish was granted nearly to the letter, for on April 9, 1888, when only a little more than three months past her fifteenth birthday, she was received into the Carmelite monastery of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and of the Immaculate Conception, at Lisieux, France. There she lived for nine years a life of remarkably joyous and childlike — or angelic — holiness; and there September 30, 1897, she died. Her name in religion was Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face. In her character she so exemplified the loveliness and the sanctity of the Child Jesus Himself, and to such a singular degree throughout her whole short life did she love and serve her Lord, that the Mother-Prioress bade her write her memories, which, with entire openness and simple obedience, she did. After her death this exquisite memoir, at first intended only for the edification of her sister nuns, was published in French, together with a valuable appendix of her letters, notes of retreat, counsels, and certain loving remembrances of her life by those who had watched her daily. Following upon these, come one hundred and fifty pages that contain her poems, which she wrote in many instances to certain French airs. It has been said of these simple verses that: “The rules of prosody are not always exactly observed in their construction; and that on the other hand, they suggest an extraordinary degree of inspiration.” Lifted up by an angelic presence, the soul shakes off the dust of earth, and rises gently towards the true ideal — God, the eternal Love. In reading this charming history, containing verses that breathe exquisite purity, we fancy ourselves before a fresco of Fra Angelico; or, to use a graceful expression of Soeur Therese herself, we imagine that we hear a “melody from heaven.”
It is a curious fact that Sister Teresa seems never to have written verses outside the cloister; though within its walls she succeeded, and to an extent by no means slight. She narrates her experience as follows to the prioress:
“O my Mother! how many reasons I have
for thanking God! I am going to tell you in all simplicity, that the
Lord showed to me the same mercy as to King Solomon. All my wishes
have been fulfilled— not only my wishes for perfection, but even
those, the vanity of which I understood without having experienced
it. Seeing one of my sisters paint charming pictures and compose
verses, I thought how happy I should be if I could paint also, could
express my thoughts in verse, and could do much good to others. Yet
I would not have liked to ask for these natural gifts, and my wishes
remained hidden in the depths of my heart. But Jesus, hidden
likewise in that poor little heart, deigned to show it once more the
nothingness of what passes away. To the great surprise of the
community I composed poetry, I painted; it was permitted me to do
good to some souls. And even as Solomon (
One turns from these simple and holy songs with a conviction which is well expressed by P. N., “To the reader” in the beginning of the French edition of the Memoirs and which I have translated thus:
Would you live, one happy moment,
lifted between earth and
heaven; Feel an atmosphere supernal
all about you
gently rise; See the world beneath your feet and
walk ‘mid radiant Pleiads
seven; And believe an angel walks beside you,
from more radiant skies?
Read these songs of love
with reverence;
let no idle glance profane
These sublimely simple
pages, seek their mystic sense to know;
But learn humbly that in
convents Love Divine as King doth reign,
And, within their deep
seclusion, hearts with joy are all aglow.
Lovely flower, soul
celestial! fifteen years at home you grew;
Then you gave your heart
to Jesus, fresh with its baptismal dew;
And the Sovereign Pontiff
blessed this lovely lily, that we know
As a nun whose wondrous
sweetness, heavenly, angelic ways,
Lyric songs of rapturous
music, — everything about her — says
That
an angel passed through Carmel,
just
a few short years ago.
One remarkable thing about Sister Teresa’s simple and sweet verses is the mortification she practiced in regard to them, a severe self-discipline which those will appreciate, who have tried to keep in mind thoughts which they could not at once write down. To quote her own words: “The good God never let our Mother tell me how to write my verses as fast as I composed them, and I would not have been willing to ask this permission for fear of committing a fault against holy poverty. So I waited for the hour of free time, and it was not without extreme difficulty, that I recalled at eight o’clock in the evening what I had composed in the morning. These little nothings are a martyrdom, it is true; but we must take great care not to make our martyrdom less meritorious, by allowing ourselves a thousand things that would make our religious life an easy one.” Her verses have for their motto: “Vous avez été seul l’objet de mes chants dans le lieu de mon pélerinage,” (“You alone are the object of my song in the place of my pilgrimage”), and are divided into five sections. The first consists of hymns and canticles relating more exclusively to her Lord, the Divine Spouse of her soul; the second part contains hymns in relation to the Blessed Virgin; and the remaining sections contain other hymns and poems and pious recreations, in honor of St. Mary Magdelen, St. Agnes, and St. Cecelia.
The religious spirit of the French people is surely not wholly dead if we may judge them from the fact, that twenty-nine thousand copies of the life of a young Carmelite nun of Lisieux have been sold in that land, within a few years. A translation under the title of The Little Flower of Jesus, is known in English, but the entire French life appears in two forms: one, a large edition with the poems of the gifted young soul; the other without the poems except one under the title — which also forms the title of that edition — Une Rose Effeuillée.
Moreover, the life has been translated into Polish, German, Dutch, Italian and Portuguese. The Spanish and Flemish editions are nearing completion. The Cardinal Patriarch of Lisbon has granted an indulgence to those who read “this admirable Life,” and all the Prelates of Portugal have followed his example. Truly the last desires of Sister Teresa have been realized in a touching and most wonderful manner: “I wish to pass my Heaven in doing good on earth,” and again, “After my death I will let fall a shower of roses.”
The Carmelites of Lisieux receive from all parts of the world, most precious testimonies of the truth of these words. At one time it is the account of the remarkable cure of some pitiful malady; more frequently it is to tell of the relief and consolation of a soul in distress. Persons come from long distances and foreign lands to kneel at the tomb of this elect of God. Priests and young missionaries departing for the Foreign Missions respectfully kiss the blessed earth and carry away flowers as veritable relics. The Nuns are constantly pressed to give some souvenir of the “little queen,” “the little St. Teresa,” the “little great Saint” or “the Little Flower”, for so are her titles varied by the devotion of those who love her, the world over.
The Seminaries have addressed touching petitions covered with signatures earnestly pleading for the introduction of her Cause. Venerable Priests and eminent Religious have said: —
“Sister Teresa of the Infant Jesus is a providential soul. Her divine mission is evident.”
“This dear ‘little saint’ is a remarkable Missionary whose word is powerful and irresistible.”
“The Life of this soul written by herself has a lasting charm, and souls who yield to its powerful influence will be drawn from tepidity and sin.”
“I assure you that the Lord works beautiful and great things by means of your ‘little Saint.’ In our Seminary she transforms souls.”
“The heart of Sister Teresa is a pure flame of Paradise which has enkindled and will enkindle many hearts.”
“Happy Victim, not only consumed by the flame of Divine Love but who has received the gift of communicating it powerfully to others.”
“Many lives tell of the fire of Love. The Life of Sister Teresa makes it felt. Many give us the desire to love God; she puts the fire in our souls.” O Thou who hast so loved Jesus and souls, who didst say when dying, “I have given my God only love, and he will return my love.” — thy word was a prophecy. Thousands of hearts to whom thou wast hitherto unknown, love and venerate thee now, and by their prayers and desires long to hasten the day when the Church will enshrine thy memory on Her Altars.
Meanwhile, dear Little Flower, console the heart of the Sovereign Pontiff in this moment of supreme trial, and from the gardens of Paradise let fall upon Him and each of His children thy shower of roses.
First Part.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
First Part.
My Song of To-Day.
MY SONG OF TO-DAY.
1.
Oh! how I love Thee, Jesus! my soul aspires to
Thee — And yet for one day only my simple prayer I
pray! Come reign within my heart, smile tenderly on
me, To-day, dear Lord, to-day.
2.
But if I dare take thought of what the morrow
brings — That fills my fickle heart with dreary, dull
dismay; I crave, indeed, my God, trials and
sufferings, But only for to-day!
3.
O sweetest Star of heaven! O Virgin, spotless,
blest, Shining with Jesus’ light, guiding to Him my
way! O Mother! ‘neath thy veil let my tired spirit
rest, For this brief passing day!
4.
Soon shall I fly afar among the holy choirs,
Then shall be mine the
joy that never knows decay;
And then my lips shall
sing, to heaven’s angelic lyres,
The eternal, glad To-day!
June, 1894.
To Live of Love.
TO LIVE OF LOVE
“If any man love Me, he will keep My word and My Father will love him and We will come to him and make Our abode with him. . . My peace I give unto you . . . Abide in My love.”
(St.
1.
The eve His life of love drew near its end,
Thus Jesus spoke:
“Whoever loveth Me,
And keeps My word as Mine
own faithful friend,
My Father, then and I his
guests will be;
Within his heart will make Our dwelling
above. Our palace home, true type of heaven above.
There, filled with peace,
We will that he shall rest,
With us, in love.
2.
Incarnate Word! Thou Word of God alone!
To live of love, ‘tis to
abide with Thee.
Thou knowest I love Thee, Jesus Christ, my
Own! Thy Spirit’s fire of love enkindleth me.
By loving Thee, I draw
the Father here
Down to my heart, to stay with me always.
Blest Trinity! Thou art
my prisoner dear,
Of love, to-day.
3.
To live of love, ’tis by Thy life to live,
O glorious King, my
chosen, sole Delight!
Hid in the Host, how
often Thou dost give
Thyself to those who seek
Thy radiant light.
Then hid shall be my
life, unmarked, unknown,
That I may have Thee
heart to heart with me;
For loving souls desire
to be alone, With love, and Thee!
4.
To live of love, ’tis not to fix one’s tent
On
Tabor’s height and there with Thee remain.
‘Tis to climb Calvary
with strength nigh spent,
And count Thy heavy cross
our truest gain.
In heaven, my life a life of joy shall be,
The heavy cross shall
then be gone for aye.
Here upon earth, in
suffering with Thee,
Love! let me stay.
5.
To live of love, ’tis without stint to give,
An never count the cost,
nor ask reward;
So, counting not the cost, I long to live
And show my dauntless
love for Thee, dear Lord!
O Heart Divine,
o’erflowing with tenderness,
How swift I run, who all
to Thee has given!
Naught but Thy love I
need, my life to bless.
That love is heaven!
6.
To live of love, it is to know no fear;
No memory of past faults
can I recall; No imprint of my sins remaineth here;
The fire of Love divine
effaces all. O sacred flames! O furnace of delight!
I sing my safe sweet
happiness to prove.
In these mild fires I
dwell by day, by night.
I live of love!
7.
To live of love, ’tis in my heart to guard
A mighty treasure in a
fragile vase. Weak, weak, am I, O well-beloved Lord!
Nor have I yet an angel’s
perfect grace. But, if I fall each hour that hurries by,
Thou com’st to me from
Thy bright home above,
And, raising me, dost
give me strength to cry:
I live of love!
8.
To live of love it is to sail afar
And bring both peace and
joy where’er I be.
O Pilot blest! love is my
guiding star; In every soul I meet, Thyself I see.
Safe sail I on, through
wind or rain or ice;
Love urges me, love
conquers every gale.
High on my mast behold is
my device: “By love I sail!”
9.
To live of love, it is when Jesus sleeps
To sleep near Him, though
stormy waves beat nigh.
Deem not I shall awake
Him! On these deeps
Peace reigns, like that
the Blessed know on high.
To Hope, the voyage seems
one little day;
Faith’s hand shall soon the veil between
remove; ‘Tis Charity that swells my sail alway.
I
live of love!
10.
To live of love, O Master dearest, best!
It is to beg Thee light
Thy holiest fires
Within the soul of each
anointed priest,
Till he shall feel the Seraphim’s desires;
It is to beg Thee guard
Thy Church, O Christ!
For this I plead with
Thee by night, by day;
And give myself, in
sacrifice unpriced,
With love alway!
11.
To live of love, it is to dry Thy tears,
To seek for pardon for
each sinful soul,
To strive to save all men from doubts and
fears, And bring them home to Thy benign control.
Comes to my ear sin’s
wild and blasphemous roar;
So, to efface each day,
that burning shame,
I cry: “ O Jesus Christ!
I Thee adore. I love Thy Name!”
12.
To live of love, ’tis Mary’s part to share,
To bathe with tears and
odorous perfume
Thy holy feet, to wipe them with my hair,
To kiss them; then still
loftier lot assume, —
To rise, and by Thy side
to take my place,
And pour my ointments on Thy holy head.
But with no balsams I
embalm Thy Face!
’Tis love, instead!
13.
“To live of love, — what foolishness she
sings!” So cries the world. “Renounce such idle joy!
Waste not thy perfumes on
such trivial things.
In useful arts thy
talents now employ!”
To love Thee, Jesus! Ah,
this loss is gain;
For all my perfumes no
reward seek I. Quitting the world, I sing in death’s sweet
pain: Of love I die!
14.
To die of love, O martyrdom most blest!
For this I long, this is
my heart’s desire;
My exile ends; I soon
will be at rest.
Ye Cherubim, lend, lend to me your lyre!
O dart of Seraphim, O
flame of love, Consume me wholly; hear my ardent cry!
Jesu, make real my dream!
Come Holy Dove!
Of love I die!
15.
To die of love, behold my life’s long hope!
God is my one exceeding
great reward. He of my wishes forms the end and scope;
Him only do I seek; my
dearest Lord. With passionate love for Him my heart is
riven. O may He quickly come! He draweth nigh!
Behold my destiny, behold
my heaven, — OF LOVE TO DIE.
February 25, 1895
Canticle to the Holy Face.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
Canticle to the Holy Face.
Dear Jesus! ‘tis Thy Holy Face
Is here the start that
guides my way; They countenance, so full of grace,
Is heaven on earth, for
me, to-day. And love finds holy charms for me
In Thy sweet eyes with
tear-drops wet;
Through mine own tears I smile at Thee,
And in Thy griefs my
pains forget.
How
gladly would I live unknown,
Thus to console Thy
aching heart. Thy veiled beauty, it is shown
To
those who live from earth apart.
I long to fly to Thee
alone!
Thy
Face is now my fatherland, —
The radiant sunshine of
my days, — My realm of love, my sunlit land,
Where, all life long, I
sing Thy praise;
It is the lily of the vale,
Whose mystic perfume,
freely given, Brings comfort, when I faint and fail,
And makes me taste the
peace of heaven.
Thy
face, in its unearthly grace,
Is like the divinest
myrrh to me, That on my heart I gladly place;
It is my lyre of melody;
My rest — my comfort — is
Thy Face.
My
only wealth, Lord! is thy Face;
I ask naught else than
this from Thee;
Hid in the secret of that Face,
The more I shall resemble
Thee! Oh, leave on me some impress faint
Of Thy sweet, humble,
patient Face, And soon I shall become a saint,
And draw men to Thy
saving grace.
So,
in the secret of Thy Face,
Oh! hide me, hide me,
Jesus blest! There let me find its hidden grace,
Its holy fires, and, in
heaven’s rest, Its rapturous kiss, in Thy embrace!
August 12, 1895.
‘Thou Hast Broken My Bonds O Lord.’
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
‘Thou Hast Broken My Bonds, O Lord’
(
For a Postulant, on her entrance-day into Carmel.
Thou, Jesu! on this day my earthly bonds hast
broken. In Mary’s Order old, my soul true goods shall
find; And if to-day: “farewell” my quivering lips
have spoken To those who loved me best, so dear, so true,
so kind, Thou, Lord, wilt be to them far more than I
could be; And Thou wilt deign to win some sinful souls
through me.
Jesu!
on Carmel I shall dwell —
Thy love has called Thy
child to that oasis fair;
There I desire to serve
Thee well, To love Thee there, and then to die,
There! yes, my Jesu,
there!
O
Jesu! on this day, Thy love my prayer has granted;
Before Thy altar throne
hereafter ‘tis my part
Calmly to wait for
heaven, — all pain to bear undaunted, —
And, lifting to the rays
of Thy white Host my heart,
Within that fire of love
all self to burn away,
And, like a seraph blest,
to serve Thee night and day.
Ah, Jesu! ‘twill be mine
— to dwell, One day, with Thee on high, in heaven’s bright
mansions
fair There evermore to love Thee well,
To love Thee, and no more
to die, There! yes, my Jesu, there!
August 15, 1895.
Jesus, My Well Beloved, Remember Thou!
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
JESUS, MY WELL BELOVED, REMEMBER THOU!
“My daughter, seek for those of My Words, that breathe forth the most love; write them, and then, guarding them with great care, as you would holy relics, be sure that you read them often. When a friend desires to re-awaken in the heart of his friend the first freshness and warmth of his affection, he says to him : ‘Do you remember your feelings when you said such a word to me one day?’ or again: ‘Do you remember what you felt on such an occasion? in such a place? at such a time?’ In like manner do you, too, believe that the most precious relics of Me to be found on earth to-day are the words of My love, the words that came from the depths of My loving Heart.”
Our Divine Lord to St. Gertrude.
Recall, O Christ! the Father’s glories bright,
Recall the splendors of
Thy heavenly home,
Which Thou didst leave,
to come to earth’s dark night,
And save poor sinners who
in exile roam! Dear Jesus! bending down at Mary’s humble
word, In her Thou didst conceal Thy majesty adored.
Now
that maternal breast,
Thy second heaven, Thy
rest, Remember Thou!
Remember, now, the day of Thy blest birth,
How angels, quitting
heaven, sang joyously:
“To God be power, glory,
lasting worth; And peace to men of good-will ever be!”
For nineteen hundred
years Thy promise Thou hast kept;
Thy children in that
peace have waked, and worked, and slept.
To taste forever here
Thy peace, divinely dear,
I seek Thee now.
Remember O Thou Babe in swaddling bands!
Beside Thy crib I would
forever stay. There, with Thine angels, Lord of all the
lands! I would remind thee of that happy day.
O Jesus! call to mind the
shepherds and wise men,
Who offered Thee their
hearts, as I mine own again;
The Babes of Bethlehem
see, Who gave their blood for Thee.
Remember
Thou!
Remember
Thou that Mary’s holy arms
Thou didst prefer to any
royal throne. Dear little One! she shielded Thee from harm,
She fed Thee with her
virginal milk alone.
Oh, at that feast of love
Thy mother gave to Thee,
My little Brother, grant
that I a guest may be,
Thy little sister I.
Oh, hear my ardent cry:
Remember
Thou!
Remember
that Thy childish voice, dear Lord!
Called Joseph
father, who, at heaven’s
decree, Prevailed to snatch Thee from the tyrant’s
sword, And sought old Egypt’s far-off coast with
Thee. O Word of God! recall what mysteries round
Thee woke; Thou didst keep silent, Lord! the while an
angel spoke. Thy distant, long exile
On banks of ancient Nile,
Remember now.
Remember Thou that on my native shore,
The stars of gold, the
moon of silver bright,
Which I contemplate,
wondering more and more,
Charmed in the East Thine
infant eyes at night.
That tiny hand of Thine,
that stroked Thy Mother’s face,
Sustained the world, held
all things in their place;
And Thou didst think of
me! Ah! how I think of Thee,
Remember now.
Remember Thou, in solitude most blest,
Thou laboredst with Thy
hands for daily bread.
To live forgotten, — this
Thy earnest quest,
All human wisdom trampled
‘neath Thy tread,
One single word of Thine could charm a
listening world;
Yet Thou Thy wisdom kept in closest silence
furled. Thou, Who didst all things know,
No sign of power wouldst
show. Remember Thou!
Remember how, — Stranger and Pilgrim here, —
Thou hadst no home, O
Thou Eternal Word!
Not e’en a pillow for Thy
head most dear;
Not e’en a shelter, like the flitting bird.
O Jesu, come to me! Rest
Thou upon my breast.
Come, Come! My spirit
longs to have Thee for its Guest.
Thou well-beloved,
adored! Rest in my heart, dear Lord,
Ever as now!
Remember Thou, the loving tenderness
That Thou didst show to
children seeking Thee.
Like them I would receive
Thy kind caress;
Like them, Thy blessings, Lord, be granted
me. That I in heaven may gain Thy welcome and Thy
rest, Here will I practise well all childhood’s
virtues best. “The childlike
soul wins heaven.”
This promise Thou hast
given, Remember Thou!
Remember Thou that on the fountain’s brink, —
A traveller, weary with
the journey’s length, —
Thou of the sinful
tenderly didst think,
And for contrition gave
her lasting strength.
I know Thee well Who
asked, of her, the draught, that day.
Thou art “the Gift of
God,” the Life, the Truth the Way.
Thou wilt not pass me by.
I
hear Thy tender cry:
“Come to Me now!”
“Come unto Me, poor souls with sorrow tost!
Your heavy load My hands
shall take away;
Your griefs and pains shall be forever
lost, Within the depths of love I feel for aye.”
I thirst, I thirst, O
Christ! Nought else I seek, save Thee.
Borne down beneath my
cross, I cry: “O comfort me!”
Be Thy dear love my home!
I come! Yes, Lord, I
come! Receive me now!
Remember Thou that, though a child of light,
Too oft, alas! I have
neglected Thee.
Take pity on me in life’s dreary night;
Oh, pardon all my sin and
misery! Make my sad heart rejoice Thy holy will to do;
My soul to those
delights, hid in Thy gospels, woo!
That I that book of gold
Ever
most dear did hold,
Remember Thou!
Remember Thou Thy holy Mother’s power
That she possesses o’er
Thy Heart divine.
Remember, at her prayer, one joyful hour,
Thou didst change water
to delicious wine.
Deign also to transform
my works, though poor they be;
Oh, make them glorious
works, when Mary pleads with Thee.
That I am Mary’s child,
Dear
Jesus, meek and mild,
Remember Thou!
Remember that the summits of the hills
Thou often didst ascend
at set of sun. Ah! how Thy prayer the long, long night-hours
fills, Thy chants of praise when weary day is done.
Thy prayer I offer now,
with ever new delight,
Joined to my own poor
prayers, my office, day and night.
That I, too, near Thy
heart, Take in Thy prayer my part,
Remember Thou!
Remember that Thine eyes beheld the fields
White to the harvest, —
harvest of the blest!
Thy Heart o’er them Its
mystic influence wields;
Within that Heart is room
for all, and rest.
That soon may come for
Thee Thy glorious harvest day,
I immolate myself, I
offer prayers alway.
I give my joys, my tears,
For
thy good harvesters.
Remember Thou!
Recall that feast of angels in delight,
That harmony of heaven’s
kingly host, The joy of all those choirs of spirits bright,
When one is saved, once
counted ‘mongst the lost.
Oh, how I would augment
that joy and glory there!
For sinners I will pray
with ceaseless, ardent prayer.
To win dear souls to
heaven, My life and prayers are given.
Remember Thou!
Remember that most holy flame of love
Thou wouldst enkindle in
all hearts alway.
To me it came from Thy fair heaven above;
Would I could spread its
fires by night and day!
One feeble spark, dear
Lord! — O glorious mystery! —
A fire immense can light,
if fanned to flame by Thee.
I long, Divinest Star!
To
bear Thy flames afar.
Remember Thou!
Remember how the festal board was graced,
To feast the penitent
returning son! Remember, too, the innocent soul is placed
Ever near Thee, O Thou
Beloved One! Unto the prodigal no welcome is denied;
But, ah! the elder son is
always at Thy side.
Father, and Love Divine,
All
that Thou hast is mine.
Remember Thou!
Remember how Thou didst disdain earth’s pride,
When working miracles
with God’s own ease.
“Ye who seek human
praise! can ye decide
To give your faith to
mysteries like these?
The great works that I
do, (so Thou hast said, dear Lord!)
My friends shall yet
surpass, according to My word.”
How humble Thou wast
then, Among the sons of men.
Remember Thou!
Remember in what rapture of delight
The loved apostle rested
on Thy Heart. In that deep peace he knew Thy love and might;
Thy mysteries thence he
drew, — how strong Thou art!
Of Thy beloved John I
feel no jealousy.
I am Thy choice; I, too, behold the
mystery. I, too, upon Thy breast
May have ecstatic rest.
Remember Thou!
Recall Thine awful hour of agony
When blood and tears bore
witness to Thy woe.
O pearls of love! O
rubies fair to see!
Thence virginal blooms of
beauty ever grow.
An angel, showing Thee what harvest Thou
shouldst reap, Gave gladness to Thee, then, even while Thou
didst weep. Then truly didst Thou see,
Amongst those
lilies, me! Remember now!
Thy blood, Thy tears, — a fruitful living
source, Those mystic flowers, makes virginal evermore;
And to them grants a
wondrous, holy force,
For winning souls to
serve Thee and adore.
A virginal heart is mine;
yet, Christ, what mystery!
Mother of souls am I,
through my chaste bond with Thee.
These virginal flowers
that bloom To bring poor sinners home,
Remember
Thou!
Remember
Thou, that, steeped in direst woe,
Condemned by men, to
heaven Thine eyes were raised;
And Thou didst cry: ”
Soon ye My power shall know.
Soon shall ye hear My
name by angels praised! “
Yet who believed Thee,
then, the Son of God to be,
Thy glory veiled and hid
in our humanity?
Fairest of sons of men!
My God! I knew Thee then!
Remember now!
Remember that Thy dear, divinest Face,
Even among Thy friends,
was oft unknown.
But Thou hast drawn me by its matchless
grace; Thou knowest well I claimed it for mine own.
I have divined its
charms, tho’ wet with human tears.
Face of Eternal God! I
love Thee all these years.
Part of my name Thou art!
Thou
dost console my heart.
Remember Thou!
Remember Thou that amorous complaint,
Escaping from Thy lips on
Calvary’s tree:
“I thirst!” Oh, how my heart like Thine
doth faint. Yes, yes! I share Thy burning thirst with
Thee. The more my heart burns bright with Thy great
Heart’s chaste fires,
The more I thirst for
souls, to quench Thy Heart’s desires.
That with such love
always I burn, by night, by day,
Remember
Thou!
Remember,
O my Jesu! Word of life!
That Thou hast loved me,
dying e’en for me.
Oh, let me be with holy
folly rife! So would I, also, live and die for Thee!
Thou knowest, Lord! my
wish, my loving heart’s desire, —
To make Thee loved, and
then, in martyrdom expire.
I long of love to die.
O hear my ardent cry.
Remember Thou!
Recall that glorious, that victorious hour,
When Thou didst say:
“Happy indeed is he,
Who has not seen My
triumph and My power,
But, seeing not, has
still believed in Me.”
In faith’s dim, shadowy
night, I love Thee, I adore.
Jesu, I wait in peace,
till faith’s long night is o’er.
That not one wish had I
To
see Thee ‘neath this sky,
Remember Thou!
Remember that ascending unto God,
Thou wouldst not leave us
orphans sad and lone,
But didst, a Prisoner
still, where we abode,
Veil on our altars all
Thy pomp, my Own!
The shadow of Thy veil is, oh! how pure and
bright, Thou Living Bread of faith, heaven’s Food, my
heart’s Delight.
O mystery of love!
My Bread from heaven
above, Jesus, ‘tis Thou!
Remember Thou, in spite of insults hurled
Against this sacrament of
love divine, Thou dost remain in this dull, weary world,
And fix Thy dwelling in a
heart like mine.
O Bread of exiled souls! holy and heavenly
Host! No more I live — not I! in Thee my life is
lost. Thy chosen ciborium
Am I. Come, Jesu, come!
My Love art Thou.
Thy sanctuary here, dear Lord, am I,
That evil men shall never
dare molest. Rest in my, heart! Oh, do not pass me by!
Thy garden I, each flower
an offering blest.
But if from me Thou turn,
white Lily of the vale!
I know too well those
flowers would wither and would fail.
Ever, Thou Lily rare!
Bloom
in my garden fair.
My life art Thou!
Remember that I longed upon this earth,
To comfort Thee for
sinners’ scorn of Thee.
Give me a thousand hearts
to praise Thy worth.
My Well-Beloved! abide,
abide with me! A thousand hearts too few would be for my
desire; Give me ThyHeart
to set my longing heart on fire.
My ardent love for Thee,
While swift the moments
flee, Remember Thou!
Remember, Lord! that Thy dear will alone
Is my sole wish, my only
happiness. I give myself to Thee, to rest, mine Own!
With Thee in peace, and
know Thy power to bless.
And if Thou seems’t to
sleep while raging waves beat high,
In peace I still remain,
without one anguished cry.
In peace, on Thee, I
wait; But, for th’ Awakening great,
Prepare me Thou!
Remember how I often long and sigh
For that last day when
angels shall proclaim:
“Time is no morel The
judgment draweth nigh.
Rise thou, to face thy
judge! He calls thy name.”
Then swiftly shall I fly,
past bounds of earth in space,
To live at last within
the Vision of Thy Face.
That it alone can be
My joy eternally,
Remember Thou!
October 21, 1895.
To the Sacred Heart.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
TO THE SACRED HEART.
Beside the tomb wept Magdalen at dawn, —
She sought to find the
dead and buried Christ;
Nothing could fill the
void now He was gone,
No one to soothe her
burning grief sufficed.
Not even you, Archangels
heaven-assigned!
To her could bring content that dreary day.
Your buried King, alone,
she longed to find,
And bear His lifeless
body far away.
Beside
His tomb she there the last remained,
And there again was she
before the sun;
There, too, to come to her the Saviour
deigned, — He would not be, by her, in love outdone.
Gently He showed her then
His blessed Face,
And one word sprang from His deep Heart’s
recess: Mary!
Hisvoice she knew, she knew its grace;
It came with perfect
peace her heart to bless.
One day, my God! I, too, like Magdalen,
Desired to find Thee, to
draw near to Thee;
So, over earth’s immense,
wide-stretching plain,
I sought its Master and
its King to see.
Then cried I, though I saw the flowers
bloom In beauty ‘neath green trees and azure skies:
O brilliant Nature! thou
art one vast tomb,
Unless God’s Face shall
greet my longing eyes.”
A heart I need, to soothe me and to bless, —
A strong support that can
not pass away, —
To love me wholly, e’en my feebleness,
And never leave me
through the night or day.
There is not one created
thing below, Can love me truly, and can never die.
God become man — none
else my needs can know;
He, He alone, can
understand my cry.
Thou comprehendest all I need, dear Lord!
To win my heart, from
heaven Thou didst come;
For me Thy blood didst
shed, O King adored!
And on our altars makest
Thy home. So, if I may not here behold Thy Face,
Or catch the heav’nly
music of Thy Voice,
I still can live, each
moment, by Thy grace,
And in Thy Sacred Heart I
can rejoice.
O
Heart of Jesus, wealth of tenderness!
My joy Thou art, in Thee
I safely hide. Thou, Who my earliest youth didst charm and
bless, Till my last evening, oh! with me abide,
All that I had, to Thee I
wholly gave, To Thee each deep desire of mine is known.
Whoso his life shall
lose, that life shall save; —
Let mine be ever lost in
Thine alone!
I
know it well, — no righteousness of mine
Hath any value in Thy
searching eyes;
Its every breath my heart must draw from
Thine, To make of worth my life’s long sacrifice.
Thou hast not found Thine
angels without taint;
Thy Law amid the
thunderbolts was given;
And yet, my Jesus! I nor
fear nor faint.
For me, on Calvary, Thy Heart was riven.
To see Thee in Thy glory face to face, —
I know it well, — the
soul must pass through fires.
Choose I
on earth mypurgatorial place,
— The
flaming love of Thy great Heart’s desires!
So shall my exiled soul,
to death’s command,
Make answer with one cry
of perfect love;
Then flying straight to heaven its
Fatherland, Shall reach with no delay that home above.
October, 1895.
The Eternal Canticle.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
THE ETERNAL CANTICLE.
SUNG IN BANISHMENT.
Exiled afar from heaven, I still, dear Lord,
can sing, — I, Thy betrothed, can sing the eternal hymn of
love; For, spite of exile comes to me, on dove-like
wing, Thy Holy Spirit’s fire of rapture from above.
Beauty supreme! my Love Thou art;
Thyself Thou givest all
to me. Oh, take my heart, my yearning heart, —
Make of my life one act
of love to Thee!
Canst
Thou my worthlessness efface?
In heart like mine canst
make Thy home? Yes, love wins love, — O wondrous grace!
I love Thee, love Thee!
Jesu, come I
Love
that enkindleth me,
Pierce and inflame me;
Come,
for I cry to Thee!
Come and be mine!
Thy
love it urgeth me;
Fain would I ever be
Sunken and lost in Thee,
Furnace divine!
All pain borne for Thee
Changes
to joy for me, When my love flies to Thee,
Winged like
the dove. Heavenly Completeness,
Infinite Sweetness,
My
soul possesseth Thee
Here, as above.
Heavenly
Completeness, Infinite sweetness,
Naught
else art Thou but Love!
Note. — The swiftly varying metres of this rapturous “Canticle” evidently are meant to indicate the ever increasing ecstasy of the singer; unless, indeed, Soeur Theresa had no explicit intention, but was simply carried on by the force of a quasi-inspiration.
March 19, 1896.
I Thirst for Love.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
“I THIRST FOR LOVE.”
In wondrous love Thou didst come down from
heaven To immolate Thyself, O Christ, for me;
So, in my turn, my love
to Thee is given,
I wish to suffer and to die for Thee.
Thou, Lord, hast spoken this truth benign:
“To die for one loved
tenderly Of greatest love on earth is sign;”
And now, such love is
mine, — Such love for Thee!
Abide, abide with me, O Pilgrim blest!
Behind the hill fast
sinks the dying day.
Helped by Thy cross I
mount the rocky crest;
Oh, come, to guide me on
my heavenward way.
To be like Thee is my desire;
Thy voice finds echo in
my soul. Suffering I crave! Thy words of fire
Lift me above earth’s
mire, And sin’s control.
Chanting Thy victories, gloriously sublime,
The Seraphim — all heaven
— cry to me, That even Thou, to conquer sin and crime,
Upon this earth a
sufferer needs must be.
For me, upon life’s dreary way,
What scorn, what anguish,
Thou didst bear
Let me grow humble every day,
Be least of all, alway,
Thy lot to share!
Ah, Christ! Thy great example teaches me
Myself to humble, honors
to despise. Little and low like Thee I choose to be,
Forgetting self, so I may
charm Thine eyes.
My
peace I find in solitude,
Nor ask I more, dear
Lord, than this:
Be Thou my sole beatitude, —
Ever, in Thee, renewed
My joy, my bliss!
Thou, the great God Whom earth and heaven
adore, Thou dwellest a prisoner for me night and day;
And every hour I hear Thy
voice implore: “ I thirst — I thirst — I thirst — for love
alway!
I,
too, Thy prisoner am I;
I, too, cry ever unto
Thee Thine own divine and tender cry:
“I thirst! Oh, let me die
Of
love for Thee!”
For
love of Thee I thirst! Fulfil my hope;
Augment in me Thine own
celestial flame!
For love of Thee I thirst! Too scant
earth’s scope. The glorious Vision of Thy Face I claim!
My long slow martyrdom of fire
Still more and more
consumeth me. Thou art my joy, my one desire.
Jesu! may I expire
Of love for Thee!
April 30, 1806.
My Heaven on Earth.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
MY HEAVEN ON EARTH.
To bear my exile now, within this world of
tears, The holy tender glance of Christ, my Lord, I
need. That glance, surcharged with love, consoles me
through the years;
His loveliness displays
foretaste of heaven indeed.
On me my Jesus smiles,
when toward Him I aspire — ,
The trial of my faith
then weighs no more on me.
That love-glance of my
God, that smile of holy fire,
Oh, this is heaven for
me!
‘Tis
heaven to have the power, great grace from Christ to win
For Holy Mother Church,
for all my Sisters dear, —
For every soul on earth
that He may enter in,
Enflame our sinful
hearts, and grant us joy and cheer.
All things my love can
gain when, heart to heart, I pray,
Alone with Jesus Christ
in speechless ecstasy.
Beside His altar blest
with Him I gladly stay, —
Oh, this is heaven for
me!
My
heaven within the Host safe hid and peaceful, lies,
Where Jesus Christ
abides, divinest, fairest Fair.
From that great fount of
love doth endless life arise;
There, day and night, my
Lord doth hearken to my prayer.
When, in Thy perfect love
(O moment blest and bright!)
Thou comest, Spouse most
pure, me to transform in Thee,
That union of our hearts,
that rapture of delight, —
Oh, this is heaven for
me!
My
heaven it is to feel in me some likeness blest
To Him Who made me and my
soul hath reconciled;
My heaven it is always
beneath His eye to rest.
To call Him Father dear,
and be His loving child.
Safe shielded in His
arms, no storm my soul can fear;
Complete abandonment my
only law shall be.
To sleep upon His Heart,
with His blest Face so near, —
Oh, this is heaven for
me!
My
heaven is God alone, the Trinity Divine,
Who dwells within my
heart, the Prisoner of my love.
There, contemplating
Thee, I tell Thee Thou art mine;
Thee will I love and
serve until we meet above.
My heaven it is to smile
on Thee whom I adore,
E’en when, to try my
faith, from me Thou hidest Thee;
Calmly on Thee to smile,
until Thou smil’st once more, —
Oh, this is heaven to me!
June 7, 1896.
My Hope.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
MY HOPE.
Though in a foreign land I dwell afar,
I taste in dreams the
endless joys of heaven.
Fain would I fly beyond
the farthest star,
And see the wonders to
the ransomed given!
No more the sense of
exile weighs on me,
When once I dream of that
immortal day. To my true fatherland, dear God! I see,
For
the first time Isoon shall fly away.
Ah! give me, Jesus! wings as white as snow,
That unto Thee I soon may
take my flight.
I long to be where flowers unfading blow;
I long to see Thee, O my
heart’s Delight!
I long to fly to Mary’s mother-arms, —
To rest upon that
spotless throne of bliss;
And, sheltered there from
troubles and alarms,
For
the first time to feel her gentle kiss.
Thy first sweet smile of welcoming delight
Soon show, O Jesus! to
Thy lowly bride;
O’ercome with rapture at that wondrous
sight, Within Thy Sacred Heart, ah! let me hide.
O happy moment! and O
heavenly grace!
When I shall hear Thee, Jesus, speak to me;
And the full vision of
Thy glorious Face
For the first
time my longing eyes shall see.
Thou knowest well, my only martyrdom
Is love, O Heart of Jesus
Christ! for Thee;
And if my soul craves for its heavenly
home, ‘Tis but to love Thee more, eternally.
Above, when Thy sweet
Face unveiled I view,
Measure nor bounds shall
to my love be given;
Forever my delight shall
seem as new As the first
timemy spirit entered heaven.
June 12, 1896.
My Wishes Before the Tabernacle.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
MY WISHES BEFORE THE TABERNACLE.
O little key!
I envy thee, For thou canst ope, at any hour,
The Eucharistic
prison-house, Where dwells the God of Love and Power.
And yet — Oh, tender
mystery! — One effort of my faith alone
Unlocks the tabernacle
door, And hides me there with Christ my Own.
O lampwithin
the holy place,
Whose mystic lights forever shine!
I fain would burn with
fires of love As bright, before my God and thine.
Yet, miracle of wondrous
bliss! Such flames are mine; and, day by day,
I can win souls to Jesus
Christ, To burn with His pure love for aye.
O consecrated
altar-stone!
I envy thee with every morn.
As once in Bethlehem’s
blessed shed, The Eternal Word on thee is born.
Yet, gentle Saviour! hear
my plea; Enter my heart, O Lord divine!
‘Tis no cold stone I
offer Thee, Who dost desire this heart of mine!
O corporalthat
angels guard! What envy of thee fills my breast!
On thee, as in His
swaddling bands,
I see my only Treasure rest.
Ah Virgin Mother! change
my heart Into a corporal pure and fair,
Whereon the snow-white
Host may rest, And thy meek Lamb find shelter there.
O holy paten!Jesus
makes Of Thee His sacramental throne.
Ah! if He would abase
Himself, To dwell awhile with me alone!
Jesus fulfils my longing
hope, Nor must I wait until I die; —
He comes to me! He lives
in me! His ostensoriumam
I!
The
chalice, too, I fain would be,
Where I adore the Blood
divine! Yet, at the holy sacrifice,
That Precious Blood each
day is mine. More dear to Jesus is my soul,
Than chalices of gold
could be; His altar is a Calvary new,
Whereon His Blood still
flows for me.
Only
one little bunch of grapes
That gladly disappears
for Thee, O Jesus, holy, heavenly Vine!
Thou knowest I rejoice to
be. Beneath the pressure of the cross,
I prove my love for Thee
alway; And ask no other joy than this, —
To immolate myself each
day!
Among
the grains of purest wheat,
O happy lot! he chooses
me. We lose our life for Him, the Christ, —
What rapturous height of
ecstasy! Thy spouse am I, Thy chosen one.
My Well-Beloved! come,
dwell in me. Thy beauty wins my heart. Oh, come!
Deign to transform me
into Thee!
1896.
Jesus Only.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
JESUS ONLY.
WRITTEN FOR A NOVICE.
Oh, how my heart would spend itself, to bless;
It hath such need to
prove its tenderness!
And yet what heart can my
heart comprehend?
What heart shall always
love me without end?
All — all in vain for
such return seek I;
Jesus alone my soul can
satisfy. Naught else contents or charms me here below;
Created things no lasting
joy bestow.
My
peace, my joy, my love, O Christ!
’Tis Thou alone! Thou
hast sufficed.
Thou
didst know how to make a mother’s heart;
Tenderest of fathers,
Lord! to me Thou art.
My only Love, Jesus,
Divinest Word! More than maternal is Thy heart, dear Lord!
Each moment Thou my way
dost guard and guide;
I call — at once I find
Thee at my side —
And if, sometimes Thou hid’st Thy face from
me, Thou com’st Thyself to help me seek for Thee.
Thee, Thee, alone I choose: I am Thy bride.
Unto Thy arms I hasten,
there to hide. Thee would I love, as little children love;
For Thee, like warrior
bold, my love I’d prove.
Now, like to children,
full of joy and glee,
So come I, Lord! to show
my love to Thee;
Yet, like a warrior bold with high elation,
Rush
I to combats in my blest vocation.
Thy Heart is Guardian of our innocence;
Not once shall it deceive
my confidence. Wholly my hopes are placed in Thee, dear Lord!
After long exile, I Thy
Face adored In heaven shall see. When clouds the skies
o’erspread. To Thee, my Jesus! I lift up my head;
For, in Thy tender
glance, these words I see:
“O child! I made My
radiant heaven for thee.”
I know it well — my burning tears and sighs
Are full of charm for Thy
benignant eyes. Strong seraphs form in heaven Thy court
divine, Yet Thou dost seek this poor weak heart of
mine. Ah! take my heart! Jesus, ‘tis Thine alone;
All
my desires I yield to Thee, my Own!
And all my friends, that
are so loved by me,
No longer will I love
them, save in Thee!
August 15, 1896.
To Scatter Flowers.
TO SCATTER FLOWERS.
O Jesu! O my Love! Each eve I come to fling
Before Thy sacred Cross
sweet flowers of all the year.
By these plucked petals
bright, my hands how gladly bring,
I long to dry Thine every
tear!
To
scatter flowers! — that means each sacrifice,
My lightest sighs and
pains, my heaviest, saddest hours,
My hopes, my joys, my
prayers, — I will not count the price.
Behold my flowers!
With deep, untold delight Thy beauty fills my
soul. Would I might light this love in hearts of all
who live! For this, my fairest flowers, all things in my
control, How fondly, gladly I would give!
To scatter flowers! — behold my chosen sword
For saving sinners’ souls
and filling heaven’s bowers.
The victory is mine: yes,
I disarm Thee, Lord,
With these my flowers!
The petals in their flight caress Thy Holy
Face; They tell Thee that my heart is Thine, and
Thine alone. Thou knowest what these leaves are saying in
my place; On me Thou smilest from Thy throne.
To scatter flowers! — that means, to speak of
Thee, — My only pleasure here, where tears fill all
the hours; But soon, with angel hosts, my spirit shall be
free, To scatter flowers!
June 28, 1896
A Work of Love.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
A WORK OF LOVE.
A CANTICLE FOR THE SACRISTANS OF CARMEL,
AND FOR THOSE SISTERS WHOSE OFFICE IT IS TO MAKE
THE ALTAR BREADS.
What from our lot could us entice!
’Tis ours the
altar-breads to make
For that tremendous
sacrifice Where Christ is offered for our sake.
Heaven will be here, on sinful earth,
When hid beneath these
veils of snow: And God be here, in a new birth,
Come down todwell with us
below!
No
queens are reigning anywhere
In joy as great as ours
to-day Our very work is love and prayer,
And binds our Spouse to
us alway.
Earth’s
highest honors seem as naught,
Beside this service of
Heaven’s King; Beside this peace, with blessings fraught
That Jesus sends on
dove-like wing.
A
holy envy fills our hearts
For this fair work of our
delight: For these small snow-white hosts, whose arts
Shall hide the Lamb of
God from sight.
Yet we His brides, His chosen, are;
Our Friend is He, our
Spouse is He! And hosts are we, that He, our Star,
Transforms to light and
ecstasy.
The
priest’s high lot is like our own,
In this our daily work
for God. Transformed by Him, we tread alone
The very path that He
once trod.
By
prayers, by acts of love divine,
His brave apostles we
must aid; With them our grace we must combine,
And fight their battles
unafraid.
God,
hid beneath these snowy veils,
Will hide Him, too, our
hearts within. O miracle! our prayer prevails,
With Him, for mercy upon
sin.
Our
joy, our glory, our delight,
O Jesus! is this work for
Thee. Thy Heaven is these ciboriums bright
Our prayers shall fill
with souls for Thee.
November, 1896.
My Armor.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
MY ARMOR.
TO A NOVICE FOR HER PROFESSION DAY.
“The spouse of the
King is terrible as an army set in array; She is like to a choir
of music on a field of battle.”
“Put
you on the armor of God that you may be able to stand against
the deceits of the devil.”
With heavenly
armor am I clad to-day;
The hand of God has thus
invested me. What now from Him could tear my heart away;
What henceforth come
between my God and me?
With Him for Guide, the
fight I face serene;
Nor furious fire, nor
foe, nor death, I fear.
My enemies shall know I
am a queen, The spouse of God, most high, most dear.
This armor I shall keep while life shall last;
Thou, Thou, hast given it
Me, my King, my Spouse!
My fairest, brightest
gems, by naught on earth surpast,
Shall be my sacred vows.
My first dear sacrifice, O Poverty,
Thou shalt go with me
till my dying hour.
Detached from all things
must the athlete be,
If he the race would run,
and prove his power
Taste, worldly men! regret, remorse and pain,
The bitter fruits of
earthly, vain desire;
The glorious palms of
Poverty I gain,
I who to God alone aspire.
“Who would My heavenly Kingdom have from Me,
He must use violence,” so
Jesus said. Ah well then! Poverty my mighty
lance shall be,
The
helmet for my head.
The pure white Angels’ sister now am I;
My vow of
Chastity has made me so.
Ah, how I hope one day
with them to fly!
Meanwhile to daily combat must I go.
For my great Spouse, of
every lord the Lord,
Struggle must I, with
neither truce nor rest;
And Chastity shall be my
heavenly sword.
To win men’s souls to
Jesus’ breast.
O
Chastity,my sword invincible!
To overcome my foes thou
hast sufficed; By thee am I — O joy ineffable! —
The Spouse of Jesus
Christ.
The
proud, proud angel, in the realms of light,
Cried out, rebellious: “I
will not obey!”
But I shall cry, throughout earth’s dreary
night, “With all my heart, I will obey alway!”
With holy boldness all my
soul is steeled,
Against hell’s wild attacks I bravely dart;
Obedience
is my firm and mighty shield,
The
buckler on my valiant heart.
O conquering God! no other prize I seek,
Than to submit with all
my heart to Thee;
Of victories th’ obedient man shall speak
Through all eternity.
If now a soldier’s weapon
I can wield, If valiantly like him the foe I face,
I also long to sing upon
the field, As sang the glorious Virgin of all grace.
Thou mak’st the chords to
vibrate of Thy lyre.
That lyre, O Jesus! is
my loving heart;
To sing Thy mercies is
that heart’s desire.
How sweet, how strong,
how dear, Thou art.
With radiant smile, Thou Spouse, my heart’s
Delight, I go to meet all foes from hell’s dark land;
And singing I shall die,
upon the field of fight,
My
weapons in my hand.
March 25, 1897.
My Peace and My Joy.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
MY PEACE AND MY JOY.
How many souls on earth there are,
Who vainly seek for peace
and rest! With me, ‘tis otherwise by far;
Joy
dwells forever in my breast.
No fading blossom is this
flower, Of its decay no fear have I;
Like fragrant rose in
springtime’s bower
So fair it is, yet shall
not die.
Well
nigh too great my gladness is,
All things I wish are
mine to-day. How can I help but show my bliss,
Who am so light at heart,
so gay? My joy I
find in pain and loss,
I love the thorns that
guard the rose; With joy I kiss each heavy cross,
And smile with every tear
that flows.
When
clouds the sunny skies o’ercast,
And weary grows my heart
the while, My joy it is
that joy is past,
And gone my Lord’s consoling smile.
My
peace is hid in Jesus’ breast,
— May
His sweet will alone be done!
What fear can mar my
perfect rest, Who love the shadow as the sun?
My peace,’tis
like a child to be,
That doth not plan, nor
understand; So, when I fall, Christ raiseth me,
And leads me gently by
the hand. My childish love I manifest,
And for His grace alone
implore; Then, if He hide, my love to test,
I only love Him all the
more.
My
peace, it is to hide my tears,
Nor ever show my bitter
pain. What joy to suffer through the years;
To veil with flowers each
galling chain! To suffer, yet make no complaint,
Since this, my Jesus,
pleases Thee! Could any trial make me faint?
’Tis Thy sweet cross is
laid on me.
My
peace,— it is with God to plead,
In prayers and tears, by
day and night; For many souls to intercede,
And say to Him, my
heart’s Delight:
“O Little Brother, Heavenly King!
For Thee the cross I
gladly bear. My only joy is suffering,
Since thus Thy earthly
lot I share.”
I
long would live an exile here,
If that be Thy dear will
for me; Or soon would flee from exile drear,
If thou shouldst call me
unto Thee. Since Love’s divine, celestial breath
Is all I need, my heart
to bless, What matters life, what matters death?
Love
is my peace, my happiness!
January 21, 1897.
A Lily Amidst Thorns.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
A LILY AMIDST THORNS.
FOR A NOVICE.
O King majestic, strong! e’en from my earliest
days, I well may call myself Thy work of grace
alone; Thy love to pay with love, Thy care to tell
with praise, I come with joy to-day, before Thy
altar-throne. Jesu, my Best-Beloved! what privilege is this?
For nothingness am I.
What have I done for Thee?
Yet, clad in virginal
white, it is to-day my bliss
To follow Thee, the Lamb,
in heavenly ecstasy.
I know, alas, too well, that I am less than
naught, Weakness itself, and poor; devoid of virtues
great And yet Thou knowest well that I have always
sought With longing heart, Thyself; on Thee alone I
wait When my young heart first felt the fire of
love burn bright,
Thou cam’st, O Christ! that fire to Thee
alone to take; Naught could content my soul but Thee, my one
Delight; — The Infinite alone my burning thirst could
slake.
Like
some wee lamb afar from its safe sheltering fold,
Gayly I played, and
nothing knew of dangers drear.
Shepherdess, Queen of
Heaven! thy mother-love untold,
Thy mother-watchfulness,
drew me thy heart anear.
So, playing on the brink
of pitfalls dread and deep,
Afar I saw the hill of
Carmel beckon me;
And I divined that they who climb its
summits steep, Shall learn of love, to fly to heaven’s
eternity.
An
angel’s purity, dear Lord, attracts Thy heart,
An angel white as snow,
in heaven’s celestial mirth.
Dost thou not also love a
lily kept apart
For Thee, from mire and taint; as white as
snow, on earth?
If he, within Thy sight, exults all
dazzling pure, In brilliant stainless robes, whose lustre
blinds our gaze,
Hast Thou not kept my robe as safe, as
white, as sure?
My virgin heart has been the treasure of my
days.
A Withered Rose.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
A WITHERED ROSE.
Jesus, when Thou didst leave Thy Mother’s fond
embrace, Let go her hand;
And first, on our hard
earth, Thy little foot didst place,
And trembling stand;
Within Thy pathway, then
fresh rose-leaves would I spread, —
Their Maker’s dower, —
That so Thy tiny feet
might very softly tread
Upon a flower.
These scattered rose-leaves form true image of
a soul, O Child most dear!
That longs to immolate
itself, complete and whole,
Each moment here.
On Thy blest altars,
Lord, fresh roses fain would shine,
Radiant, near Thee;
They gladly give
themselves. Another dream is mine, —
To fade for Thee!
How gaily decks Thy feasts, dear Child, a rose
newblown, Fragrant and fair!
But withered roses are
forgot, — the wild winds’ own, —
Cast anywhere.
Their scattered leaves
seek now no earthly joy or pelf;
For self, no gain.
Ah, little Jesus! so, I
give Thee all! Of self,
Let naught remain.
These roses trampled lie beneath the passer’s
tread, Unmarked, unknown.
I comprehend their lot; —
these leaves, though pale and dead,
Are still Thine own.
For Thee they die; as I
my time, my life, my all
Have spent for Thee.
Men think a fading rose
am I, whose leaves must fall
At death’s decree.
For Thee I die, for Thee, Jesus, Thou Fairest
Fair! — Joy beyond telling! —
Thus, fading, would I
prove my love beyond compare,
All bliss excelling.
Beneath Thy feet, Thy way
to smooth, through life’s long night,
My heart would lie;
And softening Thy hard
path up Calvary’s awful height,
I thus would die.
May, 1897
Abandonment.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
ABANDONMENT.
“Abandonment is the delicious fruit of love.”
— St. Augustine.
I saw upon this earth
A marvelous tree arise;
Its vigorous root had
birth, O wonder! in the skies.
Never, beneath its shade,
Can aught disturb or
wound; There tempests are allayed,
There perfect rest is
found And love men
call this tree,
From heaven’s high portals sent;
Its fruit, how fair to
see! Is named
abandonment.
What
banquet here doth greet
Each reverent, hungry
guest! How, by its odors sweet,
The spirit is refreshed!
If we its fruit but
touch, Joy seems on us to pour.
Oh, taste, — for never
such A feast was yours before.
In this tumultuous world
It brings us perfect
peace; Though storms be round us hurled,
Its quiet shall not
cease.
Abandonment
gives rest In Thee, O Jesus Christ!
Here is the food most
blest That has Thy saints sufficed.
Spouse of my soul, draw
nigher! I give my all to Thee.
What more can I desire
Than Thy sweet Face to
see? Naught can I do but smile,
Safe folded to Thy
breast. They who have known no guile
Find there most perfect
rest.
As
looks the floweret small
Up to the glorious sun,
So I, though least of
all, Seek my Beloved One.
King Whom I love the
most! The star I always see
Is Thy White Sacred Host,
Little and low like me;
And its celestial power,
Down from Thy altar sent,
Wakes in my heart that
flower, — Perfect abandonment.
All creatures here below,
At times, they weary me;
And willingly I go,
With God alone to be.
And if, sometimes, dear
Lord, Of me Thou weariest,
I wait upon Thy word;
Thy holy will is best.
Smiling, I wait in peace,
Till Thou return to me;
And never shall they
cease, — My songs of love for Thee.
All pain I now despise,
Naught can disquiet me;
Swifter than eagle flies,
My spirit flies to Thee.
Beyond the gloomy cloud,
Ever the skies are fair,
And angels sing aloud,
And God is reigning
there. And yet without a tear
I wait that bliss above,
Who in the Host have here
The perfect fruit of
love.
May, 1897
Second Part.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
SECOND PART.
The Dew Divine.
THE DEW DIVINE.
First Poem of Sister Teresa.
My sweetest Jesus! on Thy Mother’s breast
Thy little Face is
radiant with love;
Deign to reveal to me the
mystery blest That drew Thee down to exile from above.
Let me hide with Thee
‘neath her veil of snow,
That now conceals Thee
from all human sight.
Alone with Thee, bright
Morning Star, I’ll know
On earth a foretaste of
heaven’s deep delight.
When dawn awakens in the far-off cast,
And first the sunbeams
strike athwart the skies,
Looks for a precious balm
— its daily feast —
The unfolding floweret
with expectant eyes.
Those spotless pearls of
clear translucent dew
Are full of some
mysterious vital power;
They form the sap that
ever doth renew
And ope the petals of the half-blown
flower.
Thou
art the Flower with petals still unclosed;
I gaze upon Thy beauty
undefiled. Thou art the Rose of Sharon long foretold,
Still in Thy glorious
bud, Thou heavenly Child!
Thy dearest Mother’s
arms, so pure and white,
Form for Thee now a royal
cradle-throne; Thy morning sun is Mary’s bosom bright,
Thy
sunlit dew her virginal milk, my Own!
Ah, little Brother, shieldedsafe from harms,
In Thy deep eyes Thy
future clear I see, —
Soon Thou wilt leave for
us Thy Mother’s arms;
E’en now to suffer, Love
is urging Thee.
And round Thy very Cross, Thou fading
Flower, Still clings the fragrance of Thy
cradle-throne; I recognize the
pearls of Thy first hour:
This
Blood drew life from Mary’s milk, my Own.
Those pearly dews on all our altars rest;
The angels fain would
slake their thirst thereby,
Offering to God these
words, forever blest:
“Behold the Lamb “ — St.
John’s adoring cry.
Yes, see the Word, made
Bread for famished men,
The Eternal Priest, the
Lamb on altar-throne!
Since God’s own Son is
Mary’s Son, all, then,
This
Bread drew life from Mary’s milk, my Own!
On love divine, on joy, on glory’s light,
The seraphs feast with
rapture ever new;
I, a frail child, in the ciborium bright
See but a milk-white
Host, like pearly dew.
And since ‘tis milk that
suits with childhood most,
And Thou art Love Itself
upon Thy throne,
So, tender Love, in my white daily Host
I
see Thy Mother’s virginal milk, my Own!
February 2, 1893
To Our Lady of Victories.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
TO OUR LADY OF VICTORIES.
QUEEN OF VIRGINS, OF APOSTLE’S, AND OF MARTYRS.
O Mother! thou my heart’s desire
Hast granted now; so hear
my cry Of gratitude and love like fire
Thy child uplifts to thee
on high.
By
love for God and all mankind,
By bonds of prayer and
earnest will, Thou deignest now my soul to bind
To those who Christ’s
last wish fulfil.
‘Tis
theirs through pagan lands to go,
And raise the cross of
Christ on high;
‘Tis mine, within the cloister low,
His slightest will to
satisfy.
I
long for suffering; and the cross
With strong desire my
heart doth crave.
A thousand deaths were gain, not loss,
If but one soul I help to
save!
For
this to Carmel’s hill I’ve come, —
Myself to immolate for
men. Christ brought a fire from Heaven’s high dome
I fain would light in
hearts again.
Where
Afric suns the desert bake,
Where Asian Su-tchen[1]
fronts the east,
My Mother, I can help to make
Thy virginal name revered
and blest.
My
prayers shall travel every day,
As fast as mighty river
rolls; My brothers, missioned far away,
Helped here by me, shall
conquer souls;
And
so the pure baptismal stream
Shall make of many a
Pagan child A temple, where God’s grace shall beam,
And God with man be
reconciled.
Ah!
might I see dear children fill
The heavenly courts where
seraphs sing! Them, by my prayers and God’s sweet will,
My brothers shall to
Jesus bring.
The
palm my spirit longs to gain,
My brother’s hand in mine
shall place. A martyr’s sister! Any pain
Would seem delight to win
that grace.
The
fruit of our apostolate
Our longing eyes at last
shall see, When, pressing on through heaven’s gate,
Our souls shall meet the
saved and Thee.
Be
theirs the honor of the fight,
My priestly brothers far
away! Be mine, reflection of their light,
At last, in heaven’s
eternal day!
1897.
The Queen of Heaven to Her Little Mary.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
THE QUEEN OF HEAVEN TO HER LITTLE
MARY.
TO A POSTULANT NAMED MARY.
Could I some childlike spirit see,
Resembling Christ, my
little Child, Then she with Him should cradled be
Upon my bosom undefiled.
Angelic spirits, hovering near,
Would envy such celestial
bliss; Yet Thee I chose, so come then, dear!
My Child awaits thy timid
kiss.
Oh,
Jesus’ sister thou shalt be, —
I choose thee for “this
better part.” Wilt gladly bear Him company?
Then shalt thou rest upon
my heart.
And
I will shield thee ‘neath my veil,
Near Bethlehem’s Babe so
fair and bright.
Oh, thou shalt think the stars are pale,
Compared with this divine
delight.
But
would’st forever stay with me,
And with this
Christ-Child, in my care?
Then thou all fitly
dressed must be
In childhood’s graces heavenly fair.
Upon thy brow mine eyes must trace
Thy light of purity
divine; Simplicity’s most tender grace
Through all things in thy
life must shine.
God,
Three in One, and One in Three,
By angels tremblingly
adored, Asks gently to be called by thee
“Flower of the Fields,”
that simple word.
As
fair white daisies lift their face
With steadfast meekness
to the skies, So thou must look with kindred grace
Within the Christ-Child’s
holy eyes.
To
worldly men no charm appears
In this meek King Who
wears no crown.
Thou oft shalt see the burning tears
From Jesus’ eyes fail
swiftly down.
Then
thine own pains thou must forget,
To calm and soothe our
Blessed One; Then thou must prize the vows that set
Thy place so close to Him
alone.
Our
God, Whose mighty power controls
Fury of flood and force
of flame, Now lieth low, to save men’s souls,
A Child enclothed in our
shame.
The
Word, the Father’s Word on high,
My little Lamb, thy
Brother dear, Now speaks no word, He breathes no sigh;
Silent and dumb He lieth
here.
That
silence forms the mystic sign
Of love beyond all
utterance deep;
Its meaning thou must well divine
And day by day like
silence keep.
And
if, at times, His eyelids close,
Rest then near Him in
perfect peace; His Sacred Heart no slumber knows,
His love for thee shall
never cease.
Nor
think, dear Mary, anxiously,
About the task of every
day; To lovethy
blessed work shall be,
Its holy crown be thine
for aye.
Lo!
if some voice reproaches thee
Because no great things
thou hast done, Oh, make this answer steadfastly:
“But
I Ioved much!” So heaven is won.
Our Lord Himself thy crown shall weave;
And if thou seek His love
alone, If all for Him thou gladly leave,
Near His for aye shall be
thy throne.
When
life’s long vigil is all past,
Heav’n’s dawn shall break
in joy for thee;
And face to face, at last, at last,
The Vision of God shall
welcome thee!
CHRISTMAS, 1894
Why I Love Thee Mary.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
WHY I LOVE THEE MARY.
LAST POEM OF SISTER TERESA.
Fain would I sing, O Mother blest! the reasons
why I love thee;
Why e’en to name thy name, with joy, O
Mary! fills my heart;
And why the glorious
thoughts of thee, in greatness far above me,
Inspire no fear within my
soul, so dear and sweet thou art.
Yet, if I were to see
thee now, in majesty stupendous,
Surpassing all the
crowned saints in highest heaven above,
Scarce could I dream I am
thy child, (O truth sublime, tremendous!),
For I should think myself
to be unworthy of thy love.
The mother, who desires
to be her child’s best earthly treasure,
Must ever share its grief
with it, must understand its pain.
Queen of my heart! how
many years, thy sorrows had no measure;
What bitter tears thine
eyes have shed, my worthless heart to gain!
So, musing on thy earthly
life, in Scripture’s sacred story,
I dare to look upon thy
face, and unto thee draw nigh;
For when I see thee
suffering, — concealed thy marvelous glory —
It is not hard, then, to
believe thy little child am 1.
When Gabriel came from heaven’s courts, to ask
thee to be mother
Of God Who reigns omnipotent to all
eternity, I see thee, Mary! then prefer to that great
grace, another, —
Through all thy
consecrated life a virgin pure to be.
And so I now can
comprehend, immaculate white maiden!
Why thou wast dearer unto
God than heaven itself could be;
And how thy humble, human
frame, with mortal weakness laden,
Could yet contain the
Eternal Word, Love’s vast unbounded Sea.
I love thee when I hear thee call thyself the
handmaid only Of God, Whom thou didst win to earth by thy
humility; All-powerful it made thee then, above all
women, lonely, And drew, into thy bosom chaste, the Blessed
Trinity, The Holy Spirit, Love Divine, o’ershadowed
thee, O Mother!
And God the Father’s only Son incarnate was
in thee. How many sinful, sorrowing souls shall dare to
call Him — Brother!
For He shall be called:
Jesus, thy first-born,
eternally.
And
oh! despite my frailties, dear Mary! well thou knowest
That I at times, like
thee, possess the Almighty in my breast.
Shall I not tremble at
the gift, O God! that Thou bestowest ?
A mother’s treasure is
her child’s: — I still my fears to rest.
For I, O Mary, am thy
child! O Mother dear and tender.
Shall not thy virtues and
thy love plead now with God for me?
Then, when the pure white
sacred Host, in all its veiled splendor,
Visits my heart, thy
spotless Lamb will think He comes to thee.
Oh, thou dost help me to believe that e’en for
us, frail mortals,
‘Tis not impossible to
walk where we thy footsteps see;
The narrow road before us
now, thou lightest to heaven’s portals.
Who lowliest virtues here
below didst practise perfectly.
Near thee, O Mother! I
would stay, little, unknown and lowly;
Of earthly glory, oh! how
plain I see the vanity!
In the house of St.
Elizabeth, thy cousin dear and holy,
I learn of thee to
practise well most ardent charity.
There, too, I listen on my knees, great Queen
of all the Angels!
To that sweet canticle
that flows in rapture from thy soul;
So dost thou teach me how
to sing like heavenly, glad evangels
And glorify my Jesus, Who
alone can make me whole.
Thy burning words of love
divine are mystic flowers victorious,
Whose fragrance shall
embalm the long, long, ages yet to be.
In thee, indeed, the
Almighty King hath done great things and glorious!
I meditate upon them now,
and bless my God in thee.
When good St. Joseph did not know the great
archangel’s story,
Which thou wouldst fain
conceal from men in thy humility,
O tabernacle of the Lord!
thou didst not tell thy glory,
But veiled the Saviour’s
presence in profoundest secrecy,
Thy silence, how I love
it now, so eloquent, so moving!
For me it is a concert
sweet, of melody sublime;
I learn thereby the
grandeur of a soul that God is proving,
That only looks for help
from Him and in His chosen time.
Then later still, O Joseph! and O Mary! I
behold you Repulsed in little Bethlehem by all the
dwellers there;
From door to door you vainly went, for all
the people told you
They had no place to
shelter you, no time to give you care.
Their rooms were for the
great alone; and in a stable dreary
The Queen of Heaven gave
birth to Him Who made both heaven and earth.
O Mother of my Saviour!
then, thou wast not sad nor weary;
In that poor shed how
grand thou wert! how painless was that Birth!
And there when, wrapped in swaddling bands, I
see the King Eternal, —
When of the Word divine,
supreme, the feeble cry I hear —
O Mary, can I envy e’en
the angels’ joy supernal?
The Master Whom they
worship is My little Brother dear.
What praises must I give
to thee, who, in earth’s gloomy prison,
Brought forth this lovely
heaven-sent Flower, before our eyes to bloom!
Though unto shepherds and
wise men a star had grandly risen,
These things were kept
within thy heart as in some secret room.
I love thee when I see thee next, like other
Hebrew women, To Israel’s temple turn thy steps when dawned
the fortieth day;
I love thee yielding humbly up, to aged,
favored Simeon,
The Lord Who should redeem us all when
years had fled away.
And first my happy smiles
awake, to hear his glorious singing, —
That “Nunc Dimittis” that
shall ring till Time itself shall die;
But soon thosejoyous
notes are changed, and my hot tears are springing; —
“A sword of grief must be
thy lot,” thus runs his prophecy.
O Queen of all the martyr-host! till thy life
here is ended, That sharp, sharp sword shall pierce thy
heart! At once, it pierces sore.
That thy dear Child from
Herod’s wrath may surely be defended,
I see thee as an exile
fled to Egypt’s pagan shore.
Beneath thy veil thy
Jesus slept, thy peace no fears were daunting,
When Joseph came to bid
thee wake, and straightway flee from home;
And then at once I see
thee rise, as called by angels chanting,
Content, without a
questioning word, in foreign lands to roam.
In Egypt and in poverty, I think I see thee,
Mary, All glad at heart, all radiant, with joy
beyond compare.
What matters exile unto thee? Thy true home
cannot vary. Hast thou not Jesus, with thee still? and with
Him Heaven is there.
But, oh! in fair
Jerusalem, a sorrow, vast, unbounded,
Indeed o’erwhelmed thy
mother-heart with grief beyond compare; —
For three days Jesus hid
Himself; no word to thee was spoken.
Thou truly wast an exile
then, and knew what exiles bear.
And when, at last, thine eyes again were thy
Son’s face beholding,
And love entranced thee,
watching Him among the doctors wise,
“My Child!” thou saidst,
“now tell me why didst leave my arms enfolding?
Didst Thou not know we
sought for Thee with tear-endimmed eyes?
The Child-God answered to
thee then, to thy sweet, patient wooing,
O Mother whom He loved so
well, whose heart was well-nigh broken!
“How is it that you
sought for Me? Wist not I must be doing
My Father’s work?” Oh,
who shall sound the depths those words betoken?
But next the Gospel tells me that, in His
hidden mission,
Subject to Joseph and to thee was Christ,
the Holy Boy; And then my heart reveals to me how true was
His submission,
And how beyond all words to tell, thy
daily, perfect joy.
And now the temple’s
mystery I understand, dear Mother!
The answer, and the tone
of voice, of Christ, my King adored.
‘Twas meant the pattern
thou shouldst be, thereafter to all other
Tried souls who seek, in
Faith’s dark night the coming of the Lord.
Since Heaven’s high King has willed it so His
Mother and His dearest
Should know the anguish
of that night the torn heart’s deepest woe,
Then are notthose, who
suffer thus, to Mary’s heart the nearest?
And is not love in
suffering God’s highest gift below?
All, all that He has
granted me, oh! tell Him He may take it!
Tell Him, dear Mother! He
may do whate’er He please with me;
That He may bruise my
heart to-day, and make it sore, and break it,
So only through Eternity
my eyes His Face may see!
I know, indeed, at Nazareth, O Virgin rich in
graces! As the lowly live, so thou didst live, and
sought no better things;
Of ecstasies and wonders
there, our eyes can find no traces,
O thou who daily dwelt
beside the incarnate King of Kings!
On earth, we know, is
very great the number of the lowly;
With neither fear nor
trembling now we dare to look on thee.
By common lot and humble
path, our Mother dear and holy,
Thou wast content to walk
to heaven, and thus our guide to be.
Through all my weary exile here, I fain would
walk beside thee.
O my pure and precious Mother! be near to
me each day! Thy beauty thrills my heart with joy. Deign
now to guard and guide me!
What depths of love are
in thy heart for me thy child, alway!
Before thy kind maternal
glance, my many fears are banished;
Thou teachest me to
gently weep, and then to sing for joy;
Thou dost not scorn our
happy days, nor hast thou wholly vanished;
Thou smilest on us
tenderly, as once upon thy Boy!
When bride and groom at Cana’s feast knew well
the wine was failing,
And knew not whence to
bring supply, their need thine eyes perceived,
To Christ, the Master,
thou didst speak, who knew His power availing, —
The Maker of created
things, in Whom thy soul believed.
But first He seemed thy
mother-heart’s kind prayer to be denying.
“What matters this, O
woman! unto Me and thee?” said He.
But “Mother,” in His
soul’s deep depths, His filial heart was crying;
And that first miracle He
wrought, Mother, lie wrought for thee.
One day, while sinners crowded round to
hearwhat He was saying,
In His desire to save
their souls and them to heaven beguile,
Lo! thou wast there amid
the throng, and thou wast meekly praying
That they would let thee
nearer come, and speak with Him awhile.
And then thy Son spoke
out this word mysterious like that other.
To show us thus His
marvelous love for all the souls of men; —
He said: “Who is My
brother, and My sister, and My Mother?
‘Tis he who does My
Father’s will!” The Father’s will, again!
O Virgin, pure, immaculate! O Mother,
tenderest, dearest!
Hearing these words that
Jesus spake, this time thou wast not grieved.
No! thy great heart it
leaped for joy, O thou His friend the nearest!
Because our longing souls
likewise to kinship He received.
Oh, how thy heart is glad
to know His love to us is given, —
The treasure, that cannot
be weighed, of His Divinity!
Who shall not love thee
well to-day, and bless thee in high heaven,
Seeing thy tender care
for us, thy generosity!
For truly thou dost love us all as thy Child
Jesus loves us;
And for our sake thou didst consent to stay
when He had risen.
Since, if we love, then
all to give, e’en self, both tries and proves us,
So thou, to prove thy
love, didst stay in earth’s dark, dreary prison.
Thy love for souls our
Saviour knew, that love His heart had sounded;
He left thee to us when
He went to God’s right hand on high.
Refuge of sinners! on thy
prayers how many hopes are grounded!
Christ gave thee to us
from His cross; for us He hears thy cry.
For thou — His Mother — there didst stand,
that awfulday, on Calvary;
As a priest before God’s
altar, at the cross so thou didst stand.
And to appease the
Father’s wrath, didst offer up, O Mary!
Thy Jesus, our Emmanuel,
at God’s supreme command.
A prophet had foretold
this thing, O Mother brokenhearted!
“Is any sorrow like to
thine?” Thy grief no words can say!
Blest Queen of martyrs!
left on earth when Jesus had departed!
‘Twas thy heart’s blood
for us was given on that unequalled day.
Henceforth thy shelter in thy woe was St.
John’s humble dwelling;
The son of Zebedee
replaced the Son Whom heaven adored.
Naught else the Gospels
tell us of thy life, in grace excelling;
It is the last they say
of thee, sweet Mother of my Lord!
But that deep silence,
oh! I think it means that, up in glory,
When time is past, and
into heaven thy children safe are come,
The Eternal Word, my
Mother dear, Himself will tell thy story,
To charm our souls, thy
children’s souls, in our eternal home.
Soon I shall hear that
harmony, that blissful, wondrous singing;
Soon, soon, to heaven
that waits for us, my soul shall swiftly fly.
O Thou who cam’st to smile on me at dawn of
life’s beginning!
Come once again to smile on me. . . .
Mother! the night is nigh.
I fear no more thy
majesty, so far, so far above me,
For, I have suffered sore
with thee; now hear my heart’s deep cry!
Oh! let me tell thee face
to face, dear Virgin! how I love thee;
And say to thee
forevermore: thy little child am I.
May,1897.
Third Part.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
THIRD PART.
To My Angel Guardian.
TO MY ANGEL GUARDIAN.
O glorious guardian of my frame!
In heaven’s high courts
thou shinest bright,
As some most pure and
holy flame, Before the Lord of endless light.
Yet for my sake thou
com’st to earth,
To be my brother, Angel dear:
My friend and keeper from
my birth, By day and night to me most near.
Knowing how weak a child am I,
By thy strong hand thou
guidest me; The stones that in my pathway lie,
I see thee move them
carefully. Ever thy heavenly tones invite
My soul to look to God
alone; And ever grows thy face more bright,
When I more meek and kind
have grown.
O
thou who speedest through all space
More swiftly than the
lightnings fly!
Go very often, in my place,
To those I love most
tenderly. With thy soft touch, oh! dry their tears;
Tell them the cross is
sweet to bear; Speak my name softly in their ears,
And Jesu’s name,
supremely fair.
Through
all my life, though brief it be,
I fain would succor souls
from sin. Dear Angel, sent from heaven to me,
Kindle thyzealmy heart
within! Naught but my holy poverty,
And daily cross togive
have I; O join them to thine ecstasy,
And offer them to God on
high.
Thine
are heaven’s glory and delight,
The riches of the King of
kings; The Host in our ciboriums bright
Is mine, and all the
wealth pain brings.
So with the Cross, and
with the Host, And with thine aid, dear Angel Friend,
I
wait in peace, on time’s dark coast,
Heaven’s happiness that
knows no end.
February, 1897.
To My Little Brothers in Heaven, the Holy Innocents.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
TO MY LITTLE BROTHERS IN HEAVEN,
THE HOLY INNOCENTS.
“The Lord shall
gather together the lambs with His arm, and shall take them up
in His bosom.”
Happy those whom God regards as justified without works! for to
him that worketh, the reward is not reckoned according to grace,
but according to debt.” It is, then, gratuitously that those who
do no works are justified by grace, in virtue of the Redemption
of which Jesus Christ is the Author.
O happy little ones! with what sweet
tenderness The King of Heaven
Blessed you, when here
below! How often His caress
To you was given!
You were the type of all
the Innocents to come.
In dreams I know
The boundless joy the
King gives you in heaven’s high home,
He loves you so!
Before earth’s bitter griefs, dear lilies of
the Lord, Had dimmed your eyes,
You had beheld the gifts,
— how very beauteous! — stored
In Paradise.
O fragrant buds, soon
plucked at day’s sweet dawning bright,
By God’s own hand;
His Sacred Heart is now
the Sun by Whose soft light
Those buds expand!
What perfect care and oh! what ceaseless
watchfulness, What love alway,
Lavishes on you here our
Mother Church, to bless
Souls of a day!
In her maternal arms, you
were in holy rite
To Jesus given;
And through eternity, you
will be the delight
Of His fair Heaven.
Dear little ones! you join the virginal court,
in state Following the Lamb;
And you the sweet new
song shall sing (O privilege great!)
Unto His Name.
You to the conqueror’s
palm, without the deadly fight,
Have safely come.
O charming victors:
Christ from you has taken all blight,
And brought you home.
It needs no precious stones, all luminous and
gay, To deck your hair;
The lustre of your curls,
sweet Innocents, to-day,
Makes Heaven more fair.
To you grand martyrs lend
their palms; they give their crowns,
Your brows to grace;
Upon their knees you
find, dear children, now your thrones,
In their embrace.
In splendid courts on high, with tiny
cherub-throngs Gayly you play:
Beloved baby-band! your
childish sports and songs
Charm heaven alway.
God tells you how He
makes the birds, the flowers, the snow,
The sunlight clear;
No genius here below
knows half the things you know,
O children, dear!
From Heaven’s azure vault you tear the veils
that make Such mystery:
The glowing myriad stars
in your wee hands you take,
Your toys to be.
Running Heaven’s
highways, there, your tiny footsteps leave
A silvery trace;
In the bright Milky Way,
I think I see, at eve,
Each shining face.
To Mary’s welcoming arms, when your gay games
are done, How swift you hie!
Hiding beneath her veil
your heads like Christ Her Son
In sleep you lie.
Heaven’s darling little
pets! audacity like this
Delights our Lord;
And you can even dare
caress and gently kiss
His Face adored.
That Blessed Lord has deigned you for my
pattern here To give to me;
O Holy Innocents, like
you so pure and dear
I strive to be.
Pray, pray, that I may
gain all childhood’s graces best, —
Your candor true,
Your sweet abandonment,
your innocence so blest,
That charm my view!
Thou, of my exiled soul, O Lord! full well
dost know The ardent prayer.
Fair Lily of the Vale, on
Thee I would bestow Earth’s lilies fair;
These buds of spring I
love, and long to find for Thee,
Thou King adored!
Grant the baptismal grace
to each one tenderly;
Then cull them, Lord!
My pains and my joys I offer with delight, —
For children’s souls:
Thus to augment Thy ranks
of Innocents most white,
The while time rolls;
And, ‘mongst these
Innocents, I ask Thee that it place
To me be given.
Grant to me, as to them,
Thy kiss, O wondrous grace
Jesus! in Heaven.
February, 1897.
The Melody of St. Cecilia.
THE MELODY OF ST. CECILIA.
“During the sound of the instruments,
Cecilia was singing in her heart.” —
Office of the Church.
Thou glorious Saint of God! in ecstasy I see
The path of shining light
thy footsteps left below;
And still I think I hear
thy heavenly melody;
Of thy celestial chant
e’en here the sounds we know.
Now, of my exiled soul,
accept the fervent prayer;
Upon thy virginal heart
let my young heart find rest!
Almost unequalled here
wast thou, O lily fair,
Immaculately pure, and
how divinely blest!
Most chaste white dove of Rome! through all
thy life on earth
No other spouse than Christ thy heart
desired to find.
He chose thy favored soul, e’en from thy
hour of birth, And made it rich in grace and virtues all
combined. And yet a mortal came, on fire with youth and
pride; He saw how sweet thou wert, thou white
celestial flower!
And then, to gain thy love — to win thee
for his bride —
He strove with all his strength, from that
momentous hour.
Soon bridal feasts he spread, his palace
decked with glory,
Bade minstrels play their
best, and songs ring loudly there,
While still thy virginal
heart sang soft thy Saviour’s story,
Whose echo rose to heaven
like incense sweet and rare.
How couldst thou sing, so
far from Heaven, thy fatherland,
When seeing near thy
side, that mortal bold and frail?
Did not thy heart crave,
then, in heaven’s high courts to stand,
And dwell, forever safe,
with Christ beyond the veil?
But no! thy harp I hear
vibrate like seraph’s singing,
Harp of thy love, whose
sound so softly smote the ear;
These words, to Christ
thy Lord, in thy sweet chant were ringing:
“Now
keep my young heart pure, O Jesus, Spouse most dear.”
Abandonment how true! O
wondrous melody!
By that celestial chant thy love now stands
revealed — The love that knows no fear, but sleeps in
ecstasy Upon the Saviour’s Heart, from every ill
concealed. In wide blue skies appeared the radiant white
star That came, to lighten up, with meek and timid
glow, The luminous night that shows, unveiled to us
afar, That virginal love, in heaven, which virgin
spouses know.
. . . . . . . .
But here, Valerian dreamed of earthly joy and bliss. Cecilia! thou alone wast his young heart’s desire. Ah, when thy hand he gained, he gained far more than this! That hand showed him a path to better things, and higher. “O friend! “ to him thou saidst “near me doth watch alway An angel of the Lord, who keeps me pure as snow, Who leaves me not alone, neither by night nor day; E’en in my sleep, his wings protect from harm and woe. At night, his holy face, with clear and silvery light — A glory lovelier far than morning sun, — doth shine. That face to me appears like some blest image bright, Transparent, marvelous, of God’s own face divine.” Then cried Valerian: “Show me this angel blest, That I may give my faith to thy firm word, fair maid; Or else believe that hate for thee will fill my breast, And thou, before my wrath, shalt shudder sore afraid.” O dove, within the rock of God’s strong heart concealed, No fear hadst thou, that night, of subtlest fowler’s snare: The Face of Jesus, then, Its light to thee revealed; His sacred gospels lay upon thy bosom fair. “Valerian!” that word was said with gentlest smile, “My heavenly guide, who hears, will answer thy request. Soon thou his face shalt see; his voice shall thee beguile, For martyrdom to seek, and thus to find thy rest. But, ere his face thou see, baptismal grace must make Thy soul as white as snow, that God therein may dwell. The one true God Himself thy heart His home shall make, The Spirit give thee life, that thou mayst serve Him well; The Word, the Father’s Son, and Son of Mary chaste, Must immolate Himself, in His vast love for thee, Upon His altar throne; and there thou must be placed, Beside that throne, to feed on Him Who died for thee. Then shall the seraph bright, thee for his brother, claim, And, seeing in thy heart the home of God his King, Thee shall he lift from earth’s dark dens of sin and shame; Thee, to his own abode, that angel then shall bring.” “Ah! in my heart I feel a new fire burn to-night!” Transformed by God’s own grace, the young patrician cried. Oh! come, within my soul to dwell, Thou Lord of light! Worthy my love shall be of thee, Cecile, my bride!” In his baptismal robe, the type of innocence, Valerian, at last, the angel’s face beheld; In awe he gazed upon that grave magnificence; That radiant, crown-decked brow his old ambitions quelled. Fresh roses in his hands did that grand spirit bear, Pure lilies, dazzling white, to his strong heart he pressed. In gardens of high heaven had bloomed those blossoms rare, Beneath the rays of love from their Creator blest. “O Spouses dear to Heaven! the martyrs’ royal rose Shall crown your brows,” exclaimed that angel from on high “No voice on earth can sing, no mortal tongue disclose, Its value beyond price, that lasts eternally. I lose myself in God, His attributes proclaim; But I cannot, for Him, bear pain, though fain would I! I cannot shed or tears or blood for His dear name; To prove my love for Him, I cannot gladly die. Oh! purityis ours, the angels’ special grace, — Our vast, unbounded joy, that ne’er shall fade away; But o’er our lofty lot yours hath a loftier place, For you — you can be pure, and you can die, to-day’ “Of chaste virginity, you see the emblem here, In these white lilies sweet, — fair gift from Christ the Lamb; The pure white crown He gives, in glory you shall wear; And you for aye shall chant the new song to His name. Your union, spotless, chaste, shall win great souls to God — Souls that no other spouse, than Christ, shall seek on earth; And near His heavenly throne, when life’s hard path is trod, There you shall see them shine, in saintly joy and mirth.” Cecilia, lend to me thy melody most sweet: How many souls would I convert to Jesus now. I fain would die, like thee, to win them to His feet; For him give all my tears, my blood. Oh, help me thou! Pray for me that I gain, on this our pilgrim way Perfect abandonment — that sweetest fruit of love. Saint of my heart! oh, soon, bring me to endless day; Obtain that I may fly, with thee, to heaven above!April28, 1893.
Canticle of St. Agnes.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
\CANTICLE OF ST. AGNES.
“My only Love is Christ.”
From the Acts of her Martyrdom
Christ is my Love alone, all life is He for
me; He is my one Betrothed, Who charms my dazzled
eyes; E’en now I hear vibrate the solemn harmony
Of
His melodious sighs.
With precious stones and gold He decks my
flowing hair, Already on my hand shines bright His nuptial
ring; And many lustrous stars, magnificently fair,
Are
love-gifts from my King.
With pearls, all price beyond, has He adorned
my hands; About my neck He placed a necklace wondrous
bright; Celestial rubies red, from far-off unknown
lands, Bedeck my ears to-night.
Betrothed am I to Him on Whom the angels wait,
Trembling before His
throne throughout eternity;
The sun and moon His
praise with rapture will relate,
Till time shall cease to
be.
Divine
His Person is; heaven is His realm of bliss;
He for His Mother chose a
Virgin here on earth;
Who no beginning hath,
nor end, His Father is, —
Eternal is that birth.
Ah! when this Jesus Christ at times to touch I
dare, More pure becomes my heart; more chaste, dear
Lord, am I! The kisses of His mouth give me the treasure
fair Of blest virginity.
His signet He hath set already on my face,
That so no earthly love
may dare draw nigh to me;
Kept thus for Christ
alone, by His abiding grace,
His perfect purity.
Cleansed by the precious Blood He shed on
Calvary’s cross,
Already here I taste of heaven’s matchless
bliss; The honey and the milk — with joys that know
not loss — Come to me with His kiss.
No thought of fear have I, of either flame or
sword: For naught can now disturb this perfect
heavenly peace A fire of love divine pervades my soul, O
Lord: And never shall it cease.
January21, 1896.
To the Venerable Teophane Venard, Martyred.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
TO THE VENERABLE THEOPHANE VENARD,
MARTYRED.
O Theophane,[1]
angelic martyr blest!
All the elect to sing thy
praise aspire; And thee to hail, behold! there stand confest
The Seraphim, with love
divine on fire.
I, a poor exile still on this dull earth,
Can not with them my
joyful song combine;
Yet will I take my harp,
and sing thy worth,
And claim thee as a
kindred soul to mine.
Thy brief bright sojourn here was like a psalm
Of heavenly melody, all
hearts upraising;
Thy poet nature sang sweet songs like balm,
Through all thy life thy
dearest Saviour praising.
Writing thy farewell thy
last earthly night,
That farewell was a song
of Spring and love,
“I, little butterfly, the
first take flight,
Of all our loved ones, to
our home above.”
Thou,
happy martyr! in the hour of death
Didst taste the deep
delight of suffering:
Thou didst declare, e’en
with thy dying breath,
That it is sweet to
suffer for the King.
When the stern headsmanmade thee offer fair
Thy torture to abridge,
how swift thy word:
“Oh, blest am I my
Master’s cup to share!
Long let my suffering
last with Christ my Lord!”
O virginal lily! life had but begun,
When Jesus heard thy
loving heart’s desire.
I see in thee a flower
whose race is run,
Yet his hand plucked it
but to lift it higher.
And now, no longer, exile
dost thou know;
Thy ecstasy the Blest exult to see.
Thou Rose of love! the
Virgin white as snow
Rejoices in thy heavenly
purity.
Soldier
of Christ, thy armor lend to me!
For sinners’ souls I long
to give my life;
For them to give my tears, my blood, like
thee: Protect me then, and arm me for the strife!
For them I fain would
fight, till life is done; —
God’s kingdom take by
force, their souls to save.
“Not peace to earth I
bring,” (so spake God’s Son),
“But fire and sword I
bring.” Oh, saving glaive!
How dear is now to me that pagan horde,
The object of thy burning
love belowt If Jesus would to me such grace accord,
Ah, thither with what
ardor would I go.
Before Him space and distance fade away.
This earth is but a
plaything on the breeze;
My actions, my small
sufferings to-day,
Can make my Jesus loved
beyond the seas.
Oh,
were I but a fading springtime flower,
That soon the Lord would
gather to His breast!
Come down, O Theophane,
at my last hour;
Come down for me, thou youthful martyr
blest!
Come,
with the virginal flames of purest love,
Come, burn from out my
soul all earthly clay,
That I may fly to
heaven’s courts above,
And join thy cohort in
unending day.
February 2, 1897.
Fourth Part.
FOURTH PART.
The Story of a Shepherdess Who Became a Queen.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
THE STORY OF A SHEPHERDESS WHO
BECAME A QUEEN.
(To a young Sister named Mary Magdalen, for her Profession day.)
On this glad day, dear Magdalene,
We come to sing with
praises due The wonderful, strong, gentle chain
That binds your heavenly
Spouse and you.
Oh, hear us tell the charming story
Of how a shepherdess once
heard A Monarch bid her share His glory,
And how she answered to
his word.
The
shepherdess sing,
Whom the Heavenly King
With glory-crowned head
Dothhere, this day, at
Carmel, wed!
This
shepherdess, so small, so poor,
While spinning, kept her
flocks with care.
She loved the flowers beside her door,
The birds that fluttered
here and there;
She knew what tongue the river spake,
The verdant woods, the
skies above; She loved them for her Master’s sake,
As tokens of His
boundless love.
But
oh! she loved most tenderly
Jesus and Mary. All her
heart She gave, and they loved Melanie,
And came to speak with
her apart.
“Will
you,” to her the sweet Queen said,
“Near me, onCarmel, come
to dwell? Will you be Magdalene, instead
Of Melanie, and serve God
well?
“Child,
quit your flock, seek God alone,
Nor mourn the lambs you
ne’er shall see!
Upon this mountain all my own,
Jesus your only Lamb
shall be.” “Oh, come! thy soul has charmed My sight,”
Spake Jesus, “Come, be
thou My bride! Who gave to God all earth’s delight!
Come, reign forever at My
side!”
Gladly
the humble shepherdess
Responded to that gentle
call; And following Mary, swift to bless,
She came to Carmel’s
lofty wall.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
‘Tis you, O little Magdalene! We feast with, on this joyous day! The shepherdess is now a Queen, Near Christ, her Spouse and King alway. O! cherished Sister, you know well To serve our God, it is to reign! Our Jesus did not cease to tell This lesson through His life of pain; “Among the great, on heaven’s height, Who would stand first eternally Must choose on earth the lowest place, To hide from sight — the least to be.” Happy are you, O Magdalene! In your fixed lot in Carmel’s home, Can there, for you, be any pain Who here so close to heaven come? Both Martha’s, Mary’s is your part — To pray, to wait upon the Lord — To love Him here with all your heart, And have Him for your great reward. Yet if, sometimes, sharp suffering Shall come to flood your soul with night, From out your pain will gladness spring For God you suffer. What delight! His tenderness, divine and sweet, Shall make you very soon forget The thorns that lie beneath your feet, The tears with which your eyes were wet. The angels envy you to-day! They fain would taste your joy, Marie! Your ecstasy, divinely gay — The spouse of Jesus Christ to be. Soon, soon among the angel bands, Among the Virtues, Thrones and Powers, Your Spouse and King in heaven’s bright lands You, too, shall praise through endless hours. This shepherdess soon, So poor ‘neath the moon, In heaven a queen, Beside her King shall yet be seen.November20,1894.
Prayer of a Child of a Saint.
The Christian Poems of Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, online
PRAYER OF THE CHILD OF A SAINT[1]
TO HER GOOD FATHER, CALLED HOME TO GOD,
July 29, 1894.
Remember thou how once upon this earth
Thy joy was found in
caring for us all!
Hear now the prayer of
those who owe their birth
To thee, dear father;
bless us when we call!
A little while ago, in
Heaven, our home above,
Thou to our mother’s side
hast come with saintly love.
Together now ye reign,
in Heaven made one again.
O’er
us keep guard!
Remember
thy first-born, thy bright Marie,
She who was dearest ever
in thy sight; Remember how her charm, her gaiety,
Her love, her goodness,
filled thee with delight,
That daily source of joy
thou didst renounce — for God;
And thou didst bless the
band, that made thee feel His rod.
Thy “diamond” bright and
fair, Thy rarest of the rare,
Remember thou!
Remember thou thy beautiful “pure pearl,”
The timid lamb once to
thy tendence given!
Trusting in God, behold
thy lovely girl
Guide Carmel’s flock along the road to
Heaven. Of thy beloved ones, “Mother” is she to-day:
Then come to guide even
now thy darling on her way!
This Carmel of Thine own
Remember
at Heaven’s throne,
Remember thou!
Remember now thy strong and ardent prayer
Made here for thy third
child, thy Leonie!
God heard thee; for to
her this earth so fair
But banishment and exile
seems to be. She, too, from this gay world, to God would
turn aside; She loves Him only, and becomes His bride.
Her
ardent, burning sighs,
Her Heaven-sent
ecstasies, Remember thou!
Remember thou thy faithful child, Celine,
Who was to thee like
angel from the skies,
When close to thine the
Face of Christ was seen,
Testing thy virtue by
great sacrifice!
In Heaven thou reignest now; her task is
past and gone; Now unto Jesus Christ she gives her life
alone. Protect her future days,
Who very
often says: Remember thou!
And, oh! remember thou thy “little queen,” —
The tender love with
which her heart o’erflowed;
Remember where at first
her steps have been,
And whose hand guided her
along her road.
Papa,
remember now, that in her infancy
Her innocence was given
into God’s care by thee.
Even her curling hair
To
thee was dear and fair!
Remember thou!
Remember thou that on the terrace green
Her place was often on
thy saintly knees;
And murmuring a prayer
for her, “thy queen,”
Thou didst sing softly on
the Sunday breeze,
And she, upon thy heart,
saw in thy holy face
A shining of Heaven’s
light, a strange unearthly grace.
The beauty, sung by thee,
Was
of eternity! Remember thou!
Remember now that Sunday ever blest,
When thou a pure white
flower to her didst give,
And to thy child, dose to
thy bosom pressed,
Didst grant the grace on
Carmel’s hill to live.
Oh, father dear, recall
that in her trial-hour
Sincerest proofs were
given of all thy loving power,
At Bayeux and at Rome
Showing her Heaven as
home! Remember thou!
Remember that the Holy Father’s hand
Within the Vatican was
laid on thee. The mystery, then, thou couldst not
understand, The mystic sign of suffering to be.
But now thy children here
to thee uplift their prayer;
They bless thy bitter
cross, that won thy coronet rare.
Upon thy brow, — fair
sight! — There shine, in Heaven’s own light,
Nine
lilies bright!
August, 1894.
What I Used to Love.
WHAT I USED TO LOVE.
COMPOSED AT THE
REQUEST OF HER SISTER
CELINE, SOME MONTHS AFTER THE LATTER’S
ENTRANCE INTO CARMEL.
“I have in my Beloved the mountains, the solitary and wooded valleys, the foreign islands, the resounding rivers, the murmur of the amorus zephyrs, * * * the peaceful night, so like the dawn of day, the harmonious solitude, — all that charms and that augments love.” — St. John of the Cross.
Oh, how I love your memory,
My childhood
days, so glad and free!
To keep my innocence,
dear Lord, for Thee,
Thy love came to me night
and day, Alway.
So, when a little child was I,
To
Thee I gave me utterly
Making with joy to Thee
my promise high, To wed a King beyond my view, —
Jesu!
I loved the Mother loved by Thee;
Saint
Joseph, too, was friend to me.
How near Thy promised
heaven seemed to be,
When shone, reflected in
mine eyes, The skies!
I loved the fields of wheat, the plain
Of
emerald grass, the gentle rain.
Joy grew so great in me,
‘twas almost pain!
How dear my sisters’
presence there; How fair!
I loved to cull the grass, the flowers,
Forget-me-nots
in leafy bowers;
I found the violets’ perfume, all the
hours, — With crocus growing neath my feet,
Most sweet.
I loved the daisies fair and white;
Our
Sunday walks, — oh, what delight!
The azure skies so
gloriously bright;
The birds that sang upon
the tree For me!
I loved my little shoe to grace,
Each
Christmas in the chimney-place;
To find it there at morn,
how swift I’d race!
The feast of heaven, I
hailed it well; Noel!
I loved my mother’s gentle smile,
Her
thoughtful glance that said, the while:
“Eternity doth me from
you beguile. I go to heaven, my God, to be
With
Thee!
“I
go to find, in realms above,
My angel-band in Mary’s
love, ah, prove,
The children whom I leave below, ah, prove,
Jesu! to them their guide
and stay, Alway!
Oh, how I loved my heavenly Lord,
In
His blest Sacrament adored!
He bound me to Him by His
given word That He my Spouse from infancy
Would
be!
I
loved, upon the terrace fair,
My father’s reveries to
share; To feel his gentle kisses on my hair.
I
loved that father — who shall tell
How well!
Teresa, seated on his knee,
Listened with
me there, tenderly,
To those melodious songs
he sang for me. Those accents sweet I can not yet
Forget.
O Memory, what joys you bring!
You
wake the thought of many a thing
That flew from me, long
since, like birds awing.
Faces I see, voices I
hear How dear!
At sunset’s hour I loved to be,
Teresa, heart to heart
with thee; Thy soul was as my very own to me.
My sister-friend, my
love, wert thou
As now.
Hand clasped in hand our hymns we sang.
Above
earth’s noisy clash and clang,
Our voices through the
holy twilight rang.
Our dreams were then to
Carmel given, And heaven.
In Switzerland and Italy
Thefairest
scenes were shown to me;
But fairer yet I deemed
the sight to be Of him, — Father of Christendom, —
At Rome!
The Coliseum’s hallowed ground,
With
rapturous joy, my footsteps found;
The Catacombs re-echoed
to the sound Of hymns I sang to Thee, th’ Adored,
My Lord !
What sorrows followed then, amain;
What fears have filled my
heart with pain!
But Jesus came to help me, and sustain,
And
His dear cross has been my stay
Alway.
I fled the world, I turned my face,
And.
in a quiet resting-place,
I sought in silent prayer
for constant grace
My load to bear, and for
my grief Relief.
I loved to hear, from distant towers,
The
sweet church-bells ring out the hours;
I loved to cull, through
burning tears, the flowers
And hear, at eve, among
the trees, The breeze.
I loved the swallows’ graceful flight,
The turtledoves’ low
chant at night,
The pleasant sound of insects gay and
bright, The grassy vale where doth belong
Their song.
I loved the delicate morning-dew,
On Bengal rose of
charming hue; I loved to see the virginal bee accrue
Its store of honey from
the flower, — Its dower.
I loved to gather autumn leaves;
And, where the moss a
carpet weaves, How oft, from ‘mongst the vines, my hand
receives A butterfly, so light of wing, —
Fair thing!
I loved the glow-worm on the sod;
The
countless stars, so near to God!
But most I loved the
beauteous moon, endowed
With shining disk of
silver bright, At night.
To my dear father, worn and old,
I
gave myself with love untold.
He was all to me. Joy,
and home, and gold,
Were mine in him; for him
my kiss, My bliss.
We loved the sweet sound of the sea,
The
storm, the calm, all things that be,
At eve, the nightingale
sang from the tree.
Oh, seemed to us like
seraphim Its hymn!
But came one day when his sweet eyes
Sought
Jesus’ cross with glad surprise . . .
And then — my precious,
loving father dies!
His last dear glance to
me was given; Then — heaven!
Jesus, with hand benign and blest,
Took
Celine’s treasure to his rest,
Where endless joys are
evermore possessed;
Placing him near his
throne of love, Above!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Now, Lord, I am Thy prisoner here; Gone are the joys once held so dear. I have found out, — none last, all seek their bier. I have seen all my joys pass by, And die. The grass is withered in its bed; The flowers within my hands are dead. Would that my weary feet, Jesu! might tread Thy heavenly fields, and I might be With Thee! E’en as the thirsting hart doth crave Its lips in some cool stream to lave, I seek from Thee, Jesu! the healing wave. I need, to calm my ardors and my fears, Thy tears. Thy love, naught else, attracts my soul; Heaven is my only aim, my goal; Love, Love divine, has me in Its control. I seek the Lamb upon His throne, Alone. Jesu! Thou art that Lamb divine; Naught else I crave, if I am Thine. In Thee all things in heaven and earth are mine! Thou art the lovely Flower of spring, My King! Thou art the Lily, pure and fair; Thy perfume sweet embalms the air. O Bunch of sacred Myrrh, divinely rare, Upon my heart, I beg Thee, stay Alway! Thy love goes with me where I go! In Thee have I the sparkling snow, The rains, the lofty hills, the valleys low, The babbling brooks, the leafy trees, The breeze! All these I have in Thee, dear Lord: The yellow wheat, the harvest horde, The Rose of Sharon, — type of Thee, Adored! Round me what flowers of charming dyes Arise! I have the dear melodious lyre, The solitude of my desire, My waves, and mighty rocks, and brilliant fire, My birds that sing, my murmuring stream, — Fair dream! My rainbow in my rain-washed skies, Horizon where my suns arise, Island in far-off seas, pearl I most prize, Springtime and butterflies, I see In Thee! Thy love is like the flowers of May, The palm-trees where the breezes play, The nights almost as bright and light as day. In Thee I find what shall not cease, — Sweet peace! Delicious grapes in Thee are mine, The purple burden of the vine; The virgin forest and the stately pine, The fair haired children, Lord, I see With Thee! In Thee I have the springs, the rills, The mignonette, the daffodils, The eglantine, the harebell on the hills, The trembling poplar, sighing low And slow. In Thee I have the waving wheat, The winds that murmur low and sweet. All Mary’s flowers, once blooming at my feet, The glowing plain, the tender grass, I see In Thee. Beneath my habit’s plain, coarse fold Thou givest me rare gems and gold. Within my clasp what brilliant rings I hold, — Pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds bright, — To-night. The lovely lake, the valley fair And lonely, in the lambent air, The ocean touched with silver everywhere, In Thee their treasures, all combined, I find. I have the barque on mighty seas, Its shining track, the shore, the breeze, The sun that sinks behind the leafy trees, Lighting the clouds, ere it expire, With fire. In Thee, the glorious stars are mine; And often at the day’s decline I see, as through some veil silken and fine, Beckoning from heaven, our fatherland, Thy hand! O Thou Who governest all the earth, Who giv’st the mighty forests birth, And at one glance mak’st all their life of worth! On me Thou gazest, from above, With love. I have Thy Face, I have Thy Heart! Lo! I am wounded with thy dart; Thou dost Thy sacred kiss to me impart. I love Thee! Thee alone I view, Jesu! I go, to chant, with angel-throngs, The homage that to Thee belongs. Soon let me fly away, to join their songs! Oh, let me die of love, I pray, One day! Drawn by the light, the insect flies To meet the flame wherein it dies. So, to Thy light, my longing soul would rise; So would I gladly in that tire, Expire! I hear, e’en I, Thy last and least, The music from Thy heavenly feast; There, there, receive me as Thy loving guest! There, to my harp, oh, bid me sing, My King! Mary I go to see, and there The saints, and those once treasured here. Life is all past, and dried at last each tear. To me my home again is given, — In heaven!April 28, 1895.
Fifth Part.
FIFTH PART.
SPIRITUAL RECREATIONS
Jesus at Bethany.
JESUS AT BETHANY.
MARY MAGDALENE.
My God, Thy work complete!
At last I seek Thy grace.
Here at Thy holy feet,
To-day I choose my place.
From earth I sought in
vain For ease, or joy, or rest;
Sorrow and weary pain
Alone have filled my
breast.
OUR LORD.
Yes, Magdalene, rest here,
With contrite, humble
heart. Men’s scorn no longer fear!
Choose thou the better
part. Hereafter live in peace,
Holy and pure, for Me;
And
I shall never cease
To suffer, child, for
thee.
MARY MAGDALENE.
It is too much! My sore
And burdened heart will
break. Could I be born once more,
Or die, for Thy sweet
sake!
But
I have caused Thy grief,
For me Thou art to die.
How
shall I find relief
For all this misery?
OUR LORD.
Yes, many, many tears
Mine eyes have shed for
thee Yet speedily thy fears
Shall change to love for
Me. Thy soul, made pure again,
By one calm word of Mine,
In heaven, free from pain
Shall live a life divine.
MARY MAGDALENE.
Holy and stainless One!
How dare I seek Thy face?
What have I ever done
To win from Thee such
grace? I spurned in other years
Thy patient love for me;
Now, naught have I but
tears To offer Lord, to Thee.
OUR LORD.
Those pure, repentant tears
Shine brighter in My
sight Than any star appears
In radiant glow at night.
Than precious pearls more
dear Thy contrite heart to-day.
O sorrowing soul, draw
near! Thy guilt is washed away.
MARY MAGDALENE
Thou Lord of heaven and earth,
What marvelous mystery!
Hath nothing, then, the
worth To win Thy heart from me?
Behold, how full of
charms The hill, and sea, and sky,
The lambs that seek Thine
arms The rivers flowing by!
OUR LORD.
I see the lilies bloom,
Unsullied, fair, and
white; Yet My large heart hath room
For thy heart’s rose
to-night. That rose at last has won
My choice ‘mid flowerets
rare From all beneath the sun
I choose its blossoms
fair.
MARY MAGDALENE.
The bird’s pure, warbling voice
Chants sweetest song to
Thee; The rippling brooks rejoice,
And praise Thee merrily;
The lily of the vale
Its perfumes hastes to
bring And petals, starlike, pale,
Before Thy feet to fling.
OUR LORD.
On ivoried, regal throne,
In glorious array,
The great
King
Solomon Is less than these to-day;
The daisies in the field
Surpass his princely
state; And yet to thee they yield,
On thee they gladly wait!
MARY MAGDALENE.
A virginal train above,
With robes more white
than snow, Give thee their constant love,
And go where Thou dost
go. I, of a blighted life,
Offer the end to Thee,
From its frail morning
rife With bitter misery.
OUR LORD.
I love the fires of dawn,
So bright, so pure, so
fair; But ah! I also love
The radiant evening air.
The soul, if it repent,
Shall find at last its
home, There where the sinless tent,
’Neath heaven’s
o’erspreading dome.
MARY MAGDALENE.
The angels there delight
To show their love for
Thee. Upon their phalanx white
Thy blessing ever be!
A sinful soul am I,
Who naught have merited.
Must Thou not pass me by?
Is mine the children’s
bread?
OUR LORD.
Higher than angels mount,
Shalt thou ascend one
day! Close, close to Love’s own fount,
Shalt thou abide alway!
But first, on earth a
while In prayer live silently,
And thus gain souls from
guile To give their hearts to Me.
MARY MAGDALENE.
Oh! with what ardent zeal
My heart at last doth
burn! What deep desire I feel
To give Thy love return!
Yet souls to win for
Thee, Too weak, too blind, am I.
Lend Thou Thy heart to
me; — None then shall pass me by.
MARTHA.
Lord, one word I ask! Behold my sister there!
Now bid her, dearest
Lord, to help me serve Thy meal.
She thinks not of my
tasks; for me she hath no care;
She ought to wait on
Thee; for me some pity feel!
OUR LORD.
Dear Martha, hostess kind and good!
Why should you thus your
sister blame? True, naught she thinks about My food,
Yet waits she on Me all
the same.
MARTHA.
Ah, Lord divine and dear! ‘tis this surprises
me. Ought she not, then, awhile, to cease to dream
and pray ? Should she not choose what gift shall be her
gift to Thee, Who lavishly dost give to her and me each day?
OUR LORD.
Nay, Martha! listen to My Word!
Your faithful, generous
love I know; Yet doth your sister to her Lord
As faithful love and
homage show,
MARTHA.
Deep myst’ries are these words that greet mine
ears to-day. I can not help but think, — oh! let me tell my
thought! Better to work good works than many prayers to
say; — The love I feel for Thee must into deeds be
wrought.
OUR LORD.
True, Martha! works are needful here;
I came, Myself, to work
with care; Yet I would have this truth stand clear;
One must transfigure work
with prayer.
MARTHA.
I knew that I was right; for, did I idly rest,
No charm should I possess
in Thy benignant eyes;
So I made haste, to serve
for Thee, my holy Guest,
Some pleasant food, to
win Thy praise; — ‘tis all I prize.
OUR LORD.
Generous your ardent soul, and good!
Martha, your works show
forth your worth;
Yet would you know the only food
That I desire to have on
earth? One single work is needful here!
Your sister, biding near
My heart, In love’s own prayer, divinely dear,
Hath chosen thus the
better part. Yes, this the part that is the best!
So I declare, and Truth
am I. Now, Martha, come and share her rest,
Her blessed rest, for
Love am I!
MARTHA.
At last I understand! O Jesus, Love supreme,
Thy glance hath pierced
my soul, Thy meaning now I see.
My gifts are all too
small, my services a dream;
My heart the priceless
gift that Thou wouldst have from me.
OUR LORD.
Yes, ‘tis thy loving heart I crave;
For this I came from
heaven above. The glories ‘tis My right to have,
I left, to seek your
love, your love!
MARTHA.
Why, then, O Saviour-dear, if I may ask Thee
this, Why, within Simon’s house, didst greatly
praise Marie? For surely in her life she gave Thee pain, I
wis; And stormy days, in her, Thy sorrowing eyes
must
see
OUR LORD.
Martha! I understand her heart,
By pain and sin and
sorrow rent; For souls love much if pardoned much,
And sorely, sorely they
repent.
MARTHA.
Amazed am I the more by Thy great love and
power, For naught know I, dear Lord, of sin’s wild
strength and shame.
What do I owe Thee, then
Who, from my earliest hour,
Hast shielded me in
peace, and kept me free from blame?
OUR LORD.
A soul kept pure through all its days, —
Chief masterpiece of Love
Divine, — Should give Me rapturous, endless praise,
And
wholly and alone be Mine.
Yes, Martha, you have
charmed My sight,
By lifelong, stainless
purity; Yet, while your soul is spotless white,
Your
sister hath humility!
MARTHA.
To win Thy love, dear Lord! through all my
life to be, Earth’s honors I will scorn, and all its pomps
despise, And Mary’s part will choose, while working
still for Thee;
Thy love alone shall be of value in mine
eyes.
OUR LORD.
Many the souls you thus shall claim
From sin’s dark haunts to
seek My Face; And you shall bear afar the flame
Of faith, and love’s
immortal grace.
MARTHA AND MARY.
Thy voice, O Jesus Christ! is sweetest melody,
That wins our love to
Thee, and sets our hearts on fire.
Abide Thou here alway,
our Life on earth to be:
Abide Thou here alway,
our hearts’ supreme Desire!
OUR LORD.
True joy have I at Bethany,
Where find I oft a
welcome true; And in my Father’s home shall be
A wondrous blessing
granted you.
Yes,
you the mystery comprehend
That makes drear earth My
precious prize;
For souls of prayer are dear to Me,
A vast reward for
sacrifice.
Beyond
heaven’s joys I prize such souls!
Heaven’s glories, one
day, yours shall be;
My goods your loving
prayer controls,
Your Spouse am I eternally.
Here, faithful friends, ye gave Me meat;
But, in the feast at
heaven’s board,
Ye shall sit down to food more sweet,
While on you waits your
God and Lord.
July 29, 1895.
Bird Cage of the Infant Jesus.
BIRD CAGE OF THE INFANT JESUS.
For us, poor exiles from our birth,
God made the pretty
little birds; Among the hills and dales of earth
They sing His praises
without words; But sometimes playful childish hands,
Choosing the ones they
like the best, Keep them in cages, where the bands
Are gilded bars for these
oppressed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
O Jesus, little Brother dear! For us from Heaven didst Thou flee; Thou knowest well Thy bird-cage here Is Carmel, and Thy birds are we. Our cage is gilded not at all, Yet oh! how precious ‘tis to me! To hill or plain from its high wail Not one of us would wish to flee. Let not the outer world intrude! No joy to us it now could bring. Child Jesus! in our solitude For Thee, for Thee alone, we sing. Thy tiny hand has us beguiled; Thy infant-charms no words can tell; Thy smile, most sweet and Holy Child! Has won Thy birds to love Thee well. Here finds the simple, candid soul The only object of its love; Here is the vulture’s fierce control No longer dreaded by the dove. Upon the wings of burning prayer Theardent heart ascends on high, As swift the lark doth cleave the air, With sweet, enraptured, joyful cry. Here, in Thy praises to engage, The nightingale and veery came. O Little Jesus! in Thy cage Thy birds are carolling Thy Name. The little bird it always sings, Nor fear for its small meal doth know; A grain of wheat contentment brings; It sows not, spins not, here below. Within this cage where we have fled, Is all provided through Thy care; The one thing needful, Thou hast said, Is just to love Thee, Child most fair! So, through the hours, we sing Thy praise, With glad, pure spirits ever blest. We know the angels, all the days, Love Carmel’s birds within their nest. Jesu! Thy bitter tears to dry, That sinful men have wrung from Thee, Thy birds to win back souls will try, By their sweet songs of ecstasy. One day, when earth and time are o’er, And Thy clear call to us is given, Then angel-hands shall ope the door; Thy birds shall take their flight to Heaven; And there, with charming, songful hosts Of little cherubs glad and gay, Thy happy birds from Carmel’s coasts Shall praise Thy Holy Name alway.December 25, 1896.
The Flight of the Holy Family into Egypt.
THE FLIGHT OF THE HOLY FAMILY INTO
EGYPT.
A Fragment.
THE ANGEL WARNS ST. JOSEPH.
Rise, Joseph! heed my cry!
All swiftly, silently,
To Egypt take your
flight! Depart, this very night!
Herod his fury now,
Is even to madness
heaping; He longs to slay the Lamb
In Mary’s tendance
sleeping, Take Mother and Child, and go
From an impending woe.
SONG OF THE ANGELS ACCOMPANYING
THE HOLY FAMILY.
Wonders on wonders piled!
Jesus, of Heaven the
Lord, Now upon earth exiled,
Flee, from a mortal’s
sword. So, unto God in flight,
Oh, let us give our love;
Let our white wings
to-night Protect Him from above!
Now bring the flowers
most fair To strew before His way!
A lullaby prepare,
Of songs most sweet and
gay!
Console
His Mother’s heart
By singing of His charms.
How fair, how sweet, Thou
art, Reposing in her arms!
Oh, let us speed afar,
For here dire perils are!
Fly,
on this very night,
From dangers and from
fright! The Virgin bears our Star,
Beneath her
veil afar, The Star of the elect,
Whom longing hearts
expect.
Behold!
Heaven’s Lord Flees from a mortal’s sword!
THE ANGEL OF THE DESERT.
I come, I come, to sing your charms divine,
Blest Family who lure me
to this place. In this drear desert, lo! to-night doth shine
A Star more fair than
heaven in all its grace.
But who shall comprehend
this mystery: —
He came unto His own — they bade Him go!
A wanderer on the earth
He made is He, And none discern His beauty here below.
But if the great Thine empire now despise,
Thou King of Heaven, Thou
mystic promised Star!
Long for Thy reign have
looked. the tear-dimmed eyes,
And long the unhappy
sought Thee from afar.
O Word Eternal! Wisdom
true and deep! Thy gifts are here, but they are for the meek:
The childlike soul, the
tried, and them who weep,
It is to them, one day,
Thy voice shall speak.
For Thou Thy wisdom often dost impart
To ignorant men, if they
but humble be; And Thou dost call the sinful to Thy Heart,
Because in them Thine
image Thou dost see.
A day shall come, when,
in the selfsame fold,
The lamb beside the lion
safe shall feed;
And in Thy refuge here, this desert old,
Thy Name shall call forth
many a holy deed.
O
hidden God! what virginal souls, one day,
Catching from Thy vast
fire of love the flame,
Shall hither haste, where
Thou hast led the way;
And all these wastes for
their possession claim.
Their ardent souls, their
love like seraphs blest,
Shall fill the angels
with supreme delight;
And hell shall tremble at
their hymns, addrest
Unto God’s greater glory,
day and night
Then
Satan shall, in frantic jealousy,
Seek to deplete these
houses of our Lord;
But knows he not the
power and majesty
Of this frail Child, humble, unknown,
ignored. He dreams not that a lowly virgin-heart
Forever dwells in safety
and in peace; He dreams not of the strength, beyond his art,
She has from God, whose
wonders never cease.
It may be that, one day, Thy spouses dear
Must share Thy exile, O
Thou Holy Child!
But none shall quench their love, that
burns most clear
Despite their exile and men’s fury wild.
Nor shall the vile
world’s sacrilegious spite
Turn from their goal the
virgins of the Lord;
Nor ever soil their robes
of spotless white,
Nor mar their likeness to
their King adored.
Ungrateful world! thy reign is well nigh done
Dost thou not see how
this most holy Child
Culls joyously these
roses like the sun,
These martyrs’ palms,
these lilies undefiled?
Dost thou not see His
faithful virgin band,
Holding their burning
lamps with love alight
Dost thou not see
heaven’s portals openstand
The saints to welcome in,
to glory bright?
O
happy moment! joy that knows no shade!
When the elect in
gladness enter there;
And for their love, the
great reward is paid, —
To see God’s face, that
promised Vision fair!
Life’s exile o’er, gone
are all pain and woe;
E’en faith itself, and
hope itself, shall cease;
But everlasting rest
those souls shall know.
The ecstasy of loveand
endless peace.
January 21, 1896.
The Little Divine Beggar of Christmas.
THE LITTLE DIVINE BEGGAR OF
CHRISTMAS.
An
angel appears, bearing the Child Jesus in
his arms; and he sings as follows:
Sisters! I bring to you the Adored,
The Eternal God, so
small, so weak;
I plead for the Incarnate Word,
Because as yet He cannot
speak. To Jesus, exiled from His home,
The cruel world no
shelter grants;
And so to Carmel’s shade I come,
To find the shelter that
He wants.
Ever
your praise, your tenderness,
Your welcome sweet, your
warm caress, Be for this Child!
Oh, burn with love, for
He loves you, This Child, who is your God and Lord.
Pathetic mystery! He who
begs, to-night, of you,
Is the Eternal Word!
Come then, my Sisters! without fear,
Each in her turn, to
Jesus’ feet, Offering your love to Him most dear,
And you shall know His
will so sweet, Yes, I will tell you the desires
Of Jesus born amid the
snow; For you are pure as angels are,
And you can suffer too,
you know!
Ever
your cares, your suffering,
Andall your joys so light
of wing, Be for this Child!
Oh, burn with love, for
He loves you, This Babe, who is your God and Lord!
Pathetic mystery! He who
begs, to-night, of you,
Is the Eternal Word!
The angel, having placed the Child Jesus in the crib, offers to the Mother-prioress, and then to all the Carmelites, a basket of little notes or envelopes. Each takes one, haphazard, and without opening it gives it to the angel, who then sings the petition therein contained, — the gift which the Divine Child asks from each in turn.
I. — 1 A GOLD THRONE
Jesus, Christ, your only treasure,
Asks one special gift of
you. No gold throne
was in the stable,
Yet such treasure is His
due. Sinners’ souls are like the stable,
Bare and cold in winter’s
snow, Off’ring to Him no soft shelter,
No bright fire’s cheerful
glow. Souls of sinners, save them, Sister!
That the
throne our Lord desires;
Seeks He, too, the royal
welcome Of your pure heart’s holy fires.
I. — 2 SOME MILK.
He Who feeds the souls predestined
With His Essence all
Divine, Makes Himself the Infant Jesus
To be your delight, and
mine. Up in heaven His joy is perfect;
Here below, a beggar He
Quickly fetch
some milk, dear Sister;
Baby Jesus thirsts, you
see. Ah! our little Brother Jesus
Smiles on you. Noel!
Noel! Down from heaven to earth He cometh
In your childlike heart
to dwell.
I. — 3 SOME LITTLE BIRDS
You, dearest Sister! long to know
What you can do for
Jesus’ sake, So joyfully I haste to tell
How you His glorious
smiles can wake.
Go, catch for Him some
charming birds,
And in the stable let
them sing, For they are types of children’s souls,
So dear to this Child
Christ their King.
Their pretty hymns, their
baby prayers, His sleep like joy-bells gently break.
Pray for them then; in
heaven one day Those children’s souls your crown will make.
I. — 4 A STAR.
Sometimes, when all the skies are black
With gloomy clouds, and
no stars shine, Our little Jesus grieves alone, —
He craves your love, yes,
yours and mine. Then give to Him the light He wants,
Be like a
bright and shining
star;
And let your virtues,
like a lamp, Shed welcoming radiance near and far.
So
may your rays lead souls to heaven,
The sinful souls for whom
He died. This Child Divine, our Morning Star,
Asks you to be His star,
His bride.
I. — 5 A LYRE
MY little Sister, ’waiting there,
Your gift for Bethlehem’s
Babe to hear, Your heart
for His melodious lyre
Is what He asks in
accents clear. In heaven’s high court swells up alway
The angels’ song with
incense sweet; And yet He loves, in Carmel’s shade,
To hear your praises at
His feet. So, dearest Sister! ’tis your heart,
Whose melodies our Lord
desires. By night, by day, consume away,
With songs of love, in
love’s sweet fires.
I. — 6 SOME ROSES.
Your soul, dear, is a lily sweet, —
Jesus and Mary love it
well. Hear what the heavenly Bridegroom speaks
Softly, yet clear as
altar-bell; — Ah! if I love the lily white,
Symbol
of innocence like snow,
Yet for
the rose of penitence
I also feel My heart
aglow. Let your warm tears for sinners fall, —
What joy your love will
give Me then! So can I gather at My Will
Those
roses dear, the hearts of men.
I. — 7 A VALLEY.
As by the shining of the sun
Nature is glorified and
gay; As by its radiance field and vale
Grow fair and strong and
green alway;
So
doth our Jesus, Son divine,
Approach you with His
sweet caress, Shining at His own matin hour,
Your loving heart to heal
and bless. Lo! He is born on Christmas morn,
Your exiled soul to find
and cheer, To fill your days with His warm rays:
So be His smiling valley,
dear!
I. — 8 SOME REAPERS.
Lo! here on earth, ’neath other skies,
In spite of storm and
winter’s snow Already our dear Little One
Hath found some harvests
here below. But, ah! to gather them He needs
Reapers on fire with
quenchless love, And glad to suffer or to die
For Him who reigns in
Heaven above Noel Noel to Carmel’s shade
I come, because His will
is thine. Sister! form
apostolic souls,
To reap the harvest
fields divine.
The following was the stanza that was drawn by Sister Teresa of the Infant Jesus herself. Only three months later she heard the first call of the Divine Master invite her to leave earth for heaven.
I. — 9 A BUNCH OF GRAPES
I want some sweet and cooling fruit,
A
bunch of grapes so smooth and fair,
To moisten the small,
thirsting lips Of this dear Babe within my care.
Your lot, my Sister! oh,
how blest, For those choice grapes He asks of you,
Within His vineyard to be
prest! The hearts of all men are His due.
His tiny hand like
snow-flake white
Upon your throbbing heart shall lie,
And from all touch of
earth’s delight
Absorb it into His on high.
I. — 10 A LITTLE WHITE HOST.
Oh! we how with each morning’s light
Jesus, the Child divinely
fair, Into a little snow-white host
Transforms Himself, that
you may share His life; and yet with greater love,
He longs to change you
into Him. Your heart His precious treasure is,
His happiness, His joy
supreme. Noel! Noel! from heaven He comes,
To fill your soul with
glorious light;
The Lamb of God to you descends,
Now be His pure white
host to-night!
II. — 1 A SMILE.
Ah! the wicked world despises
Love that Jesus feels for
men; And His heavenly eyes are moistened
With hot bitter tears for
them; And His little arms He stretches,
Dearest Sister, unto you.
Shall I tell you what the
comfort That I think He seems to sue?
See! His look is asking
of you, And His sweet eyes seem to say:
Smile on all! That
smile suffices
To wipe all My tears
away.
II. — 2 SOME PLAYTHINGS.
Would you like to be
the plaything
Of this Child so fair and
sweet? Would you, dear one! like to please Him?
Then lie humbly at His
feet. If He chooses to caress you,
If He lifts you to His
breast, Yes, if He seems tired of you,
Count yourself among the
blest. Be His happy Christmas
plaything,
Seeking just to do His
will; And in heaven with countless blessings
He, your happy heart,
will fill.
II. — 3 A PILLOW.
Oft I see the Baby Jesus
Wakeful in His manger
bed. Would you know the reason? Dear ones,
There’s no pillow for His
head. Ah! I know your ardent longing
To console Him night and
day. Give your heartto
be His pillow,
That is what He wants
alway; And be ever meek and humble,
Then you will be greatly
blest. You will hear Him softly saying:
In your heart how sweet
My rest!
II. — 4 A FLOWER.
All the earth with snow is covered,
Everywhere the white
frosts reign; Winter and his gloomy courtiers
Hold their court on earth
again. But for you has bloomed
the Flower
Of
the fields, Who comes to earth
From the fatherland of
heaven, Where eternal spring has birth.
Near the Rose of
Christmas, Sister!
In the lowly grasses
hide, And be like the humble flowerets, —
Of heaven’s King the
lowly bride!
II. — 5 SOME BREAD.
Day by day, at morn and even,
Still the holy words are
said: O our Father up in Heaven!
Give to us our daily
bread, Yet your God, become your Brother,
Suffers hunger as you do;
And His childish voice is
asking For a
little bread from you.
Ah! my Sister! Jesus
wishes Just your love, — how great your bliss!
Let your soul be pure and
spotless, For His daily
bread is this.
II. — 6 A MIRROR.
Children like to have you place them,
Near a mirror clear and
fair; Then they greet with childish rapture
The bright face that they
see there. Come, then, to the favored stable,
Let your soul like
crystal glow. Let the Word, become an Infant,
In your heart His
likeness know! Sister, be the living image,
Of your Spouse, — His
mirror clear;
All the beauty of your
Jesus He would have in you appear.
II. — 7 A PALACE.
The great and noble of the earth,
In palaces they proudly
dwell; The poor and lonely find their home
In hut, in cabin, and in
cell. So in a humble cattle-shed
The Christ-Child lies,
this Christmas night;
Leaving His palace in the
skies, He veils His glory’s dazzling light.
Your heart loves poverty,
I know; You count yourself divinely blest;
So Jesus finds
a palace-home
Within your humble, happy
breast.
II. — 8 A CROWN OF LILIES.
Sinners will crown with thorns, one day
The holy, heavenly head
of Christ. What pains and sorrows will be His,
To gain us graces all
unpriced. Now may your virginal sweet soul
Make Him to-night His
woes forget; And for His
royal lily-crown
Your Sisters’ souls
before Him set!
Draw very near to Jesus’ throne,
To charm His lovely
tear-dimmed eyes;
Make of these virgin souls
His crown
Of
snow-white lilies beyond price!
III. — 1 SOME BONBONS.
Sister dear, the little ones
Like so much the sweet
bonbons!
Bring some then, and
quickly fill Jesus’ small white hand to-night!
By His smile He doth
invite You to do His childish will.
This wee King, so frail,
so weak, Carmel’s candies
He doth seek; —
What they are, you surely guess!
Give Him your austerity
And your holy poverty, —
He your gift will quickly
bless.
III. — 2 A CARESS.
Little Jesus, dear, from you
Nothing more doth softly
sue Than a very sweet
caress.
Give Him all your love
to-day, And your gift He will repay;
With His love your soul
will bless.
If
a Sister weep to-night,
Sore at heart where all
are bright, Ah! at once, with tenderness,
Beg the little Holy Child
That His small hand
undefiled Dry her tears with its
caress.
III. — 3 A CRADLE.
Many hearts God’s favors want,
Would have Jesus always
grant Gifts and presents without end.
If
He seem awhile to sleep,
Few their watch beside
Him keep; Few remain His faithful friend.
Get Him sleep that none may break;
Though
we know His Heart doth wake;
Even in dreams our Jesus
weeps. So His
cradle, Sister, be!
Guard the sweet Lamb
tenderly, Smiling on Him while He sleeps.
III. — 4 SOME LINENS.
See the dear Child’s tiny hand
Point — to make you
understand — At the rough and rasping straw.
Won’t you grant His wish
to-night, And bring linens
pure and white,
O’er His manger-bed to draw?
Make excuses kind and true,
Whatsoe’er
your Sisters do,
Loving all for Christ their King.
Thus
your ardent charity,
And your true simplicity,
Are the
linens you can bring.
III. — 5 SOME FIRE.
Our sweet Jesus, Fire of love,
Light
and Warmth of heaven above,
In the stable, cold is
He! Yet, in the far, shining sky,
Angels,
living flames on high,
Wait on Him in ecstasy.
Here on earth ‘tis you must light
Blazing
fires of love to-night,
In your heart, all free
from sin; Little shivering Jesus warm
In the
shelter of your arm,
By the souls your prayers
shall win!
III. — 6 A CAKE.
Well we know that children small
Eagerly
for cakes will call!
This dear Child will not
disdain Even such a gift to-night!
Offer it with
great delight; You His happy smile will gain.
Know you what to this Child-King
Real
content will surely bring?
’Tis obedience prompt and
true. As He bowed to Mary’s will,
So do you the
rule fulfil, — Such the cake He asks of you.
III. — 7 SOME HONEY.
In the pretty floweret’s cup,
When the morning sun
comes up, You can see the tiny bee,
Flitting fast through
summer
hours, Visiting the woodland bowers,
Gathering honey steadily.
Ah! of love your treasure make;
And, each day, for
Christ’s dear sake,
To His holy cradle come.
All
the honeyof your love
Give,
sweet bee! to this meek Dove;
Make His Heart your hive
and home!
III. — 8. A LAMB.
Would you charm the Lamb of God?
In the path that He hath
trod Tread to-day with willing feet!
Leaving
all things here below,
Seek alone His will to
know; Do His will surpassing sweet!
O my Sister! be His own;
Seek for
naught but God alone!
He will give you perfect
rest. Mary, leaning o’er His bed,
Will see
another childish head,
Close to His, and oh! how
blest.
The Angel, taking again the Child Jesus in his arms, sings what follows:
The dear Child Jesus thanks you all,
For all your gifts, this
Christmas night;
And all your names His tiny hand
Within His book of life
will write.
Since
in this Carmel He hath found
Such joy and peace,
Rewards in heaven He’ll
store for you, That shall not cease.
And if you ever faithful are
To all the vows you make
to-night, Then love will give you wings to fly
Unto a far sublimer
height.
One
day, in heaven’s dear fatherland,
Your exile o’er,
Jesus and Mary you shall
see Forevermore!
The Angels of the Crib.
THE ANGELS OF THE CRIB.
FRAGMENT.
THE ANGEL OF THE CHILD JESUS.
Thou Word of God, Thou Glory of God!
In awe I gazed on Thee
above; And now I see that Glory of God,
That Word of God, made
Man through love.
O Child, whose light doth blind the sight
Of angels in high heaven
divine! Thou’rt come to save the world to-night,
And who can fathom that
love of Thine?
In
swaddling bands
The Child-God fies.
Lord of all lands!
Trembling before Thy face
I veil mine eyes.
Yes,
who can fathom this marvellous thing?
God makes Himself a
little Child, He, the eternal, almighty King,
Afar from His own heaven
exiled! Fain would I give Thee love for love!
Thee will I guard by day
and night, My utter fealty to prove,
Thou tiny Jesu, Light of
Light!
Thy
cradle so dear Draws angels anear.
O Child-God! now
Trembling before that
humble crib I bow.
While earth has power from heaven to bring
My King to want and cold
and woe, Heaven holds no longer anything
To keep me from that
world below. My wings shall shield Thy Baby-head;
Thee will I follow
everywhere; Beneath Thy tiny feet I’ll fling
The sweetest flowers and
most fair.
Oh,
would some radiant star might fall,
To form Thy cradle, Baby
bright! Would I the dazzling snow could call,
To be Thy curtains pure
and white! Would all the lofty hills might bow
In lowly homage at Thy
feet! Oh, would the fields might bloom for Thee,
Celestial blossoms
heavenly sweet!
For
all the flowers are smiles of God,
Are distant echoes from
His throne, Are notes that wander far abroad
From that great harp He
holds alone. Those notes of harmony divine
Relate His goodness unto
men, And in their melody combine
To tell His saving love
again.
O
that sweet melody,
Exquisite harmony,
Silence of flowers!
Ye tell His greatness,
His wonders, His powers!
Well know I, Jesu! that Thy friends,
Thy dearest friends, are
livingflowers.
Thou travellest to
earth’s farthest ends,
To cull them for heaven’s
fadeless bowers.
Souls
are the flowers with beauty rife
That draw Thee from the
heavens high; Thy tiny hand first gave them life,
And Thou for them wilt
gladly die.
Mystery
ineffable! Thou, Word adorable,
Surely shalt one day weep
When
Thou the harvest of those flowers shalt reap.
THE ANGEL OF THE HOLY FACE.
Yes, from the morning of Thy days, dear Child!
Thy blessed Face is
bathed in burning tears.
Those tears upon that
Face all undefiled
Still shall flow on
throughout Thy earthly years.
O Face divine!
So fair Thou art
From angel eyes
The glories of the skies
depart.
Under
its veil of anguish sore and dread,
I see Thy loveliness all
charms above; In Thy worn, pallid Face, O Jesu dead!
I see Thy Child-face in
its perfect love.
For
pain to Thee, my Jesus! was so dear
That even Thy Baby-eyes
the future saw,
And Thou didst long to drink the chalice
drear, Thy very dreams could Thee to Calvary draw.
O wonderful dream!
Thou Child of a day,
From Thy face but one
beam Thrills my heart with its ray.
THE ANGEL OF THE RESURRECTION.
Angel of man’s Redeemer! weep no more.
I
come with comfort for sad hearts and sore.
This Child shall yet gain
All men’s hearts as their
King; He shall arise and reign
Almighty, triumphing.
O God! concealed in childish guise before us,
I see Thee glorious,
O’er all things
victorious.
I
shall roll back the great tomb’s rocky door,
I shall
behold Thy lovely Face once more,
And I shall sing,
And I shall then rejoice,
When I shall see my King,
And hear again His voice.
Thy childish eyes, though dim to-night with
tears, Shall shine with heavenly light throughout the
eternal years. O Word of God!
Thy speech, like burning
flame, Shall sound one day abroad,
And all Thy love
proclaim.
THE ANGEL OF THE EUCHARIST.
Gaze on, dear Angel, heavenward-flown,
Gaze, while our King
ascends on high; But I, to seek His altar-throne,
Down to the distant earth
will fly. Veiled in His Eucharist I see
The Almighty Lord, the
Undefiled, The Master of all things that be,
More tiny than the
humblest child.
Here will I dwell in this biest piace,
The sanctuary of my King;
And here, before His
veiled Face, My hymns of ardent love will sing.
Here, to my heaven-strung
angel-lyre, My praise I’ll chant, by night, by day,
To Him, the Feast for
saint’s desire,
To Him, the sinner’s Hope and Stay.
Would that by miracle, I too
Could feed upon this
heavenly Bread;
Could taste that Blood forever new,
That Blood which was for
all men shed! At least, with some pure longing soul,
I’ll share my fires of
love divine, That so, all fearless, glad and whole,
It may approach its Lord
and mine.
THE ANGEL OF THE LAST JUDGMENT.
Soon shall the awful day of judgment come,
This wicked world shall
feel the avenging flame;
All men shall hear
pronounced their endless doom,
And these to bliss shall
pass, and those to shame.
Then shall we see our God
in glory bright,
No longer hidden in this cradle small;
Then shall we sing His
triumph after fight,
And then proclaim Him
Lord and King of all.
As stars shine out when furious storms are
passed, His eyes shall shine, now veiled in blood and
tears; And His eternal splendor shall at last
Appear again, after these
anguished years.
Upon the clouds our Jesus shall be borne,
Beneath the standard of
the cross on high;
And evil men who hailed
Him once in scorn
Shall know their awful judge is drawing
nigh.
Ah,
ye shall tremble, habitants of earth!
Ah, ye shall tremble on
that final day, No longer able to withstand the wroth
Of this dear Child, the
God of love to-day.
For you He chose to tread
the path of pain,
Seeking your hearts alone, to Him so dear:
But
when at last He comes to earth again,
How shall ye quail before
His Face in fear!
ALL THE ANGELS, with the exception of THE ANGEL
OF THE LAST JUDGMENT.
O Jesu, deign to hear the prayer,
That we, Thy Angels offer
Thee! Thy people save, Thy people spare,
Thou who didst come the
world to free!
With
Thy small hand avert this dart,
Appease this Angel with
the sword; Save every meek and contrite heart
That seeks Thy mercy,
dearest Lord!
THE CHILD JESUS.
My faithful Angels, tried and true!
Far from the heavenland
of your birth, Hear, for the first time, speak to you
The Eternal Word made Man
on earth!
I
love you well, O spirits pure!
Angels from heaven’s high
courts above! Yet men I love with love as sure,
Yea, with an everlasting
love.
I
made their infinite desires,
Their souls were made at
My decree; A heart that kindles with My fires
Becomes a heaven on earth
for Me.
The Angel of the Infant Jesus asks Him to gather upon earth an abundant harvest of innocent souls, before they have been tainted by the impure breath of sin.
ANSWER OF THE CHILD JESUS.
Dear Angel of My childhood’s hours!
I
grant the answer to thy prayer.
Many shall be the
innocent flowers I will preserve all lily-fair.
Yes, I will cull those blossoms gay,
Fresh
with their pure baptismal dew;
And they shall bloom in
endless day, In ecstasy forever new.
Their fair corollas, silvery bright,
More brilliant than a
thousand fires,
Shall be the Milky Way of light
’Mid all the starry
heavenly choirs.
I
must have lilies for My crown, —
The Lily of the Field am
I! And
I must have to grace my throne,
A sheaf of lilies in the
sky.
The Angel of the Holy Face asks pardon for sinners.
ANSWER OF THE CHILD JESUS
Thou who dost gaze upon My Face
In ecstasy of seraph
love, Leaving for love of it thy place
Of glory in My heaven
above!
Thy
prayer I hear, I grant thy plea.
Each soul that on My name
shall call Shall find relief, shall be set free
From Sin’s dark curse,
from Satan’s thrall.
Thou who dost seek to honor here
My Cross, My Passion, My
bruised Face: Learn now this mystery, angel dear!
Each soul that suffers
shares thy grace.
The
radiance of its pain borne now,
In heaven upon thy face
shall shine; The martyr’s halo decks thy brow,
His glory shall be drawn
from thine.
The Angel of the Eucharist asks what he can do to console our Lord for the ingratitude of men.
ANSWER OF THE CHILD JESUS.
Dear Angel of the Eucharist!
Thou, thou dost charm Me
every hour; Thy song, by heaven’s own breezes kissed,
Over My suffering soul
hath power.
Ah,
the great thirst of My desires!
I crave, I crave, the
hearts of men. Dear Angel, melt them with thy fires,
And win them to My Heart
again!
Would
each anointed priest might be
Like Seraphim beyond the
skies, What time he comes to offer Me
My pure and holy
Sacrifice!
To
work such miracle of grace,
It needs must be that
night and day, Souls near the attar seek a place
To watch and suffer, weep
and pray.
The Angel of the Resurrection asks what will become of the poor exiled ones left on earth when the Saviour shall have ascended into heaven.
ANSWER OF THE CHILD JESUS.
Back to My Father I shall go,
Thither to draw the men I
love; And heaven’s long bliss they then shall know,
When I shall welcome them
above.
When
the last hour of time appears,
My flock shall come again
to Me; And I shall be, for endless years,
Their Light, their Life,
their Ecstasy
THE ANGEL OF THE LAST JUDGMENT.
Goodness supreme! and dost Thou then forget
Sinners must meet at
last, the doom decreed ?
Dost Thou forget, in Thy
great love, that yet,
Their number is nigh
infinite indeed ?
At
the last judgment I shall punish crime,
Evil before My wrath
shall shrink and bow;
My sword is ready . . .
Jesu! ‘tis the time.
My sword is ready to
avenge Thee now.
THE CHILD JESUS
Great Angel, turn aside thy sword
I am the Messenger of
Peace. The nature taken by thy Lord
’Tis not thy work to
judge. O cease!
‘Tis
I shall judge the human race,
Jesus
My name, all names above.
I grant My elect ones
boundless grace.
For men I died, and I am Love!
Dost thou not know that, every day,
The blasphemies of
faithless lips Before one love-glance pass away,
And find therein assured
eclipse?
The
souls I choose, the souls I spare,
Shall reign in glory like
the sun. ‘Tis Mine own life I give them there,
And they and I shall
there be one.
THE ANGEL OF THE LAST JUDGMENT.
Before Thee, Child divine, the Cherubim bow
lowly, Lost in amaze as they Thy love all boundless
see. Fain would we die like Thee, on Calvary’s
summit holy, Fain would we die like Thee!
REFRAIN.
Sung by all the Angels.
How great the bliss of
man, Thy low and humble creature.
In ecstasy would fain
each seraph undefiled
Put off, O Jesus sweet,
his grand angelic nature,
Would fain become a
child!
Noel, 1894 —
Poems in Honor of Jeanne D’Arc.
POEMS IN HONOR OF JEANNE D’ARC
I. The Shepherdess of Domremy Hearkening to Her Voices.
I.
THE SHEPHERDESS OF DOMREMY
HEARKENING TO HER VOICES.
Happy, happy am I,
Jeanne the shepherdess!
How swift my lambkins fly
To meet my kind caress.
How light my little crook;
How cool this verdant
grove, Beside whose babbling brook
In solitude I rove.
A lovely crown I weave
Of field-flowers, fair
and sweet; What joy is mine to leave
That crown at Mary’s
feet!
Oh,
how I love the flowers,
The birds, the rippling
stream The skies above these bowers
As fair as angel’s dream.
The valleys and the rills
Rejoice my longing eyes;
The summits of the hills,
They seem to touch the
skies!
But
hark! What voices come
Upon the evening breeze?
Do angels seek my home
With melodies like these?
I question air and space,
I gaze into the skies;
And yet no slightest
trace Of angels greets my eyes.
Ah, past those clouds that bar
And veil them from my
sight, Would I might fly afar
To realms of radiant
light!
ST. CATHERINE AND ST. MARGARET:
Thy pure sweet voice to heaven has pierced,
dear child, From this time forth committed to our care!
Thine angel guardian,
ever undefiled,
Has borne to God on high thy earnest
prayer.
Down
from His heavenly palace we have flown,
From His high court on
His eternal hill;
For by our voices He to thee makes known
His holy will.
Thou must go forth to save thy fatherland,
To guard the faith,
uphold God’s honor here.
Thou as a conqueror in
His sight shall stand,
Preserved by Him and His
own Mother dear.
(TO JEANNE, WHO WEEPS.)
Oh, dry thy tears, take comfort, tender heart!
Beyond these clouds gaze
into heaven’s delight;
In our ecstatic chants
thou shalt have part,
Who by God’s grace shalt
conquer in the fight.
These sweet refrains thy soul shall fortify
Against approaching
combat fierce and dire.
Jeanne! thou must suffer.
Seek, then, from on high
A love like fire!
For the pure soul, in time’s long dreary
night, Its only glory is, Christ’s cross to bear;
And, in heaven’s endless
day, with splendor bright
That cross shall shine
all radiant and fair.
ST. MICHAEL:
Michael am I, the guardian of France,
Great Captain of the
armies of the skies;
Against hell’s troops I
march with sword and lance,
And the old serpent
glares with curious eyes.
Once Satan far above the
starry world Desired to reign, higher than seraphs trod;
But, like a thunderbolt,
at him I hurled
These words: “ Oh, who is like to God!
At that same moment vengeance, dread, divine,
Oped hell’s abyss and
thither thrust him deep.
For that proud fallen
angel, ah! no mercies shine;
For him, what eyes shall
weep?
Pride
tore down Satan from his lofty place,
And of that morning-star
an outcast made;
But when man, too, had trifled with God’s
grace, Pity and comfort were to him displayed.
The Eternal Word, the
Father’s Equal Son,
Clothing Himself with
poor humanity, Back to His Father’s heart the exiles won
By His profound humility.
Now that same Saviour deigns to succor France
But not by any mighty
soldier’s hand.
He hath cast down the proud; He gives the
conquering lance
Unto a child’s frail hand.
Jeanne! God has chosen thee His work to do.
Thou must depart,
obedient to His call;
Unto thy fields, thy
flocks, must bid adieu,
To this dear vale, these
woods, thy home, thy all.
Be strong, go forth and
save thy fatherland!
Go forth — fear naught;
all danger now despise!
Go! in my might beside
thee I shall stand.
See how the foe before
thee flies!
Take
thou this sword and bear it to the fray; —
Long hath God kept it for
thy hand to bring.
Take for thy standard,
child! this pure white flag to-day;
Then go, — and find the
king!
JEANNE ALONE:
For Thee alone, O God, I quit my father’s
side, I leave my cherished friends, my parish-church
so dear, For Thee I leave my flocks, my valleys green
and wide, My peaceful home, — to fight. Forgive me, if I
fear! Instead of my white lambs, I must lead armed
men; To Thee I sacrifice my joy, my eighteen years.
I shall not see, alas!
these flowery fields again;
To serve Thee, Lord, I
go, ‘mid shields and swords and spears.
My voice, that mingles
now with the soft breezes’ breath,
Shall soon resound amid
war’s clamors wild and drear;
The piercing, frightful
cries of battle and of death,
Instead of sweet
church-bells, shall reach my straining car.
Yet, I desire the cross;
the sacrifice is light;
To suffer for Thee, Lord,
ready and glad am I.
Now deign to call Thy
child to this sublime delight!
Jesus, my Love, my All,
for Thee I long to die.
ST. MICHAEL:
Thou must depart, O Jeanne! the time has come.
It
is the Lord Who arms thee for the fray.
Soon shalt thou see our
blest, eternal home!
Daughter of God! fear not
to die to-day.
ST. MARGARET:
Thou, child, with Him shalt reign above.
ST. CATHERINE:
Wherever goes the Lamb, thy virgin soul shall
go.
THE TWO SAINTS TOGETHER:
Like us, thou, too, shalt sing the love
And power of God most
high, where crystal streamlets flow.
ST. MICHAEL:
Thy name, O Jeanne! on heaven’s scroll is
placed, With all who died that France might live for
aye; There shall thy brow with glory’s crown be
graced, Like royal queen upon her nuptial day.
THE SAINTS,
offering to Jeanne the palm and crown:
With joy our loving eyes
can see The radiance that even now upon thy head
streams down; And from high heaven we bring to thee
ST. CATHERINE:
The martyr’s glorious palm,
ST. MARGARET:
The martyr’s crown.
ST MICHAEL, presenting the sword:
Before the victory must come the fight,
Not yet the crown, not
yet the palm can be.
Win them where honor doth
defend the right.
Jeanne! dost thou hear the bugle call to
thee?
THE SAINTS TOGETHER:
Thee will we guard throughout the fray;
And splendid victories
shall thy banner grace.
On thy pure brow, one
happy day, Our hand the glorious aureole shall place.
JEANNE, ALONE:
With you, dear saints, no foe I fear;
Upon the Lord of hosts I
wait. What time the battle draweth near,
His arm shall send
deliverance great.
Oh, how I love my
fatherland, France, oldest daughter of the cross;
That love to sacrifice is
fanned; For her I count as gain all loss.
Ah, no! I fear not now to die,
Who long, dear God, Thy
Face to see; Yet, as I go, oh ! hear my cry:
Comfort my mother
tenderly! And thou, St. Michael, strengthen me.
ST. MICHAEL:
Hark! for already all the elect in heaven
Raise high their joyous
chant, because they hear
The illustrious name of
Martyr gladly given,
By Rome’s great Pontiff,
to this maiden dear.
I hear the universe declare
The virtues of this maid
in warlike armor drest;
I hear God grant to her
the rare And grand and glorious title, Jeanne the
Blest.
In
those great days sore suff’ring France shall know,
And impious deeds shall
make her fail and faint.
Then shall thy glory,
Jeanne, more splendid grow,
And all pure souls shall
then invoke the Saint.
The voices mount towards the skies, Mingling with angel-choirs, whose songs our hopes enhance. O Jeanne of Arc, now hear our cries! A second time, a second time, save France!
The voices mount towards the skies, Mingling with angel-choirs, whose songs our hopes enhance. O Jeanne of Arc, now hear our cries! A second time, a second time, save France!
1894.
II. Hymn of Jeanne D’Arc After Her Victories.
HYMN OF JEANNE D’ARC AFTER HER
VICTORIES:
All honor and all glory be
To Thee, the Eternal King
of kings! For Thou hast given the victory
To me, a frail and feeble
thing.
And
thou, dear Mother, pure as snow,
Most lovely star,
sublimely bright!
Oh, thou hast been my light below,
Protecting me in danger’s
night. Thou, Queen, whose glories ne’er shall fail,
When shall mine eyes thy
splendors see? When shall I rest beneath thy veil,
Never again to part from
thee? Hail, Mary! Holy Mother, hail!
My exiled spirit fain would fly
To heavenly joys that
have no end; Naught here its needs can satisfy, —
It craves for God, its
perfect Friend.
But, ere that sweet reward begin,
I long to combat for Him
here, For Him unnumbered souls to win,
And find Him dearer and
more dear. My exile here will pass away,
As the day passes and is
gone; Then, up the radiant, sunlit way,
My happy soul shall
hasten on, To see my God in endless day.
III. Prayer of Jeanne D’Arc in Prison.
PRAYER OF JEANNE D’ARC IN PRISON.
My voices this foretold: I am a prisoner here,
No aid can I expect,
except, my God, from Thee;
For love of Thee alone, I
left my father dear;
My flower-decked fields,
blue skies, my flocks, no more I see.
For Thee I left my home
and her who gave me birth;
Then, lifting in my hand
the standard of Thy choice,
Lord, in Thy holy Name, I
led an army forth,
And far-famed generals
then gave credence to my voice.
Behold my recompense — this gloomy
prison-place, The price of all my toils, my prayers, my
blood, my tears!
No more my flowery fields my longing eyes
shall face, Nor shall I see the home of all my childhood
years. No more shall I behold the mountains far away,
Whose distant summits
seemed to pierce the azure sky;
And I shall hear no more
the church-bells sweetly play.
How soft upon the air
those holy notes swept by!
Here, in this gloomy cell, the star I seek in
vain, That used, at vesper hour, to shine so clear
and fair; In vain I seek the leaves, that when upon the
plain Beside my flock I slept, gave cooling shelter
there.
Here,
when at last I sleep after long bitter weeping,
Of morning’s flowers I
dream, and perfumes of the dawn;
But then my clanking
chains disturb that happy sleeping, —
I wake — my dream is past
— the verdant fields are gone.
Lord, for Thy love I go, martyrdom to embrace;
For Thee I dare to meet
the lingering death of fire.
Now but one wish is mine,
— to see Thee face to face,
No more to part from
Thee: — behold my heart’s desire!
To die for love of Thee,
— what happier lot than this?
I will take up my cross,
and walk where Thou hast trod.
Ah! how I long to die,
and enter into bliss!
Ah! how I long to die,
and thus to see my God!
IV. The Voices of Jeanne D’Arc During Her Martyrdom.
IV. THE VOICES OF JEANNE D’ARC DURING HER MARTYRDOM:
We have come down from heaven’s eternal
height, To smile on thee and bear thee to thy rest.
See in our hands the
immortal crown of light,
Designed to grace thy
brow, O maiden blest!
Come with us, virgin pure and fair!
Oh! come where saints and
martyrs trod; Come unto joys beyond compare,
Come unto life most fair,
Daughter of God!
Hot bums the fire about thy tender frame,
But far more hotly burns
thy holy love; Soon Christ will call thee to Him by thy name,
And heavenly dews shall
soothe thee from above.
An angel comes to set thee free
From every pain; from
torture wild. Behold, the palm descends to thee!
Look up! thy Saviour see,
Great-hearted child!
O virgin-martyr! one brief moment’s pain
Thee shall conduct to
heaven beside thy Lord.
Thy death saves France.
See! heaven opes again
To her lost children
ransomed by thy sword.
JEANE, DYING:
To my eternal home I fly;
Angelic faces meet my
view In God’s great Name for France I die!
O Mary, now be nigh!
“Jesu! Jesu!”
V. The Divine Judgment.
V. THE DIVINE JUDGMENT:
I answer from My throne thy voice that calls
My name. I break thy iron bands, thy bitter foes I
shame. Fly, fly thou pure white dove, to Me, thy
Spouse, thy King!
Come, reign with Me in heaven, where Saints
thy praise shall sing.
O Jeanne, thy angel brings thee grace;
And I, the Judge of all
thy race, Beside My own throne give thee place,
And this proclaim:
Even in thee I saw love’s
holy flame.
Thou
shalt be crowned. Oh, come to Me!
Thy tears My hand shall
wipe away; My kiss divine I give to thee;
I crown with joy thy
griefs to-day.
With
thy companions come
To My eternal home;
In heavenly valleys roam,
Following the Lamb.
Soul, well-beloved by Me,
Lo! I have ransomed thee!
Sing the new song, and be
Where’er I am.
Past is thy fleeting shame!
Angels exalt thy name,
Singing thy saintly fame,
Close to My throne.
Ah, timid shepherdess!
Virgin in warrior’s
dress! Thy name the world shall bless,
Heavenward
blown. Ah, timid shepherdess!
Virgin in warrior’s
dress! All heaven is now thine own.
VI. The Canticle of Triumph.
VI. THE CANTICLE OF TRIUMPH.
THE SAINTS TO JEANNE D’ARC:
The immortal crown to thee, O Jeanne! we bear;
Thou martyr of high God!
to thee the palm we bring;
A glorious throne for
thee our loving hands prepare,
Beside the King.
Rest now in heaven at
last, rest now in heaven, pure bride,
Escaped forevermore from
every net and snare!
In endless peace behold!
the living waters glide
’Mid fields bestrewn with
flowers most fair!
Take thou thy flight;
expand thy wings of snow;
For swiftly shalt thou
speed from star to golden star.
Through heaven’s eternal
space, all joyous shalt thou go.
Fly now afar!
No cruel foes are here,
no gloomy prison walls;
The shining seraph hosts
hail thee their sister blest;
For thee, O spouse of
Christ: thy Well-Beloved calls.
Find now with Him eternal
rest!
JEANNE:
He is my Own . . . . what ecstacy divine!
All heaven is mine own!
THE SAINTS:
All heaven is thine own!
JEANNE:
The angels and the saints, Mary and God, are
mine. They are mine own!
THE SAINTS:
Upon the far-off earth ages have passed away,
Since thou didst pass
from thence to heaven’s eternal joy,
A thousand years in
heaven seem but one little day.
O endless day, without
alloy!
JEANNE:
O endless day, without or cloud or shade,
No power can snatch from
me thy glory all divine!
The passing show of earth
from off my sight doth fade,
And heaven is mine!
THE SAINTS:
And heaven is thine!
VII. Prayer of France to the Venerable Jeanne D’Arc.
VII. PRAYER OF FRANCE TO THE VENERABLE JEANNE D’ARC:
In heaven remember, Jeanne, your fatherland,
Remember all her valleys
decked with flowers;
Recall the smiling
plains, the mountains grand,
You left, to dry her
tears, in other hours.
Remember how your arm
saved France from deadly foes;
How, like an angel sent
from heaven, you cured her woes!
Hear, in her night of
pain, France call on you again:
Remember now!
Remember those great victories you won,
Rheims, Orleans; those
memorable days,
When, in God’s name, grand deeds by you
were done, Crowning your land with laurels and with bays.
Now, far away from you, I
suffer and I sigh.
Come once again to save,
who once for me didst die!
Deign now to break my
chains, And all my present pains
Remember now!
My arms with fetters bound, to you I cry,
Dim are my eyes with
tears, oh, bring relief!
No longer great among
earth’s queens am I,
And mine own children
pierce my heart with grief.
No more for God they
care; their Mother they despise.
O Jeanne, compassionate
my myriad miseries!
Daughter of noble heart,
Oh,
come, and take my part.
I hope in thee.
VIII. Canticle to Obtain the Canonization of the Venerable Jeanne D’Arc.
VIII CANTICLE TO OBTAIN THE CANONIZATION OF THE VENERABLE JEANNE D’ARC.
Thy Church, O conquering God! through all the
earth, Begs Thee to crown with the saint’s royal
crown, A virgin, martyr, warrior, whose true worth
In heaven’s high courts
e’en now hath won renown.
Our tumults calm;
Her cause advance!
The halo and the palm
Give unto Jeanne of
France!
For
guilty France we do not ask from Thee
A mighty conquerer with
mail-clad horde.
Far better help Jeanne’s prayer can gain
than he! One martyr doth outshine all heroes, Lord!
Jeanne is Thy glorious handiwork alone;
A heart of fire, a
soldier’s soul of steel,
Thou gavest to Thine
handmaid, all Thine own,
With lily and laurel
crowned, for woe or weal.
Beside her flock she heard the high command, —
Voices from heaven called
her to the fray; So she left all, to save her fatherland;
Conquered by her, the foe
fled far away.
To
martial hosts she brought God’s saving grace;
Her eyes like heaven, her
words like burning flame,
Her holiness like theirs
who see God’s Face.
Bowed sinful souls in
penitence and shame.
(O marvel ne’er before in history told!)
A kingdom’s crown and
glory all undone,
From the strong grasp of the invaders bold,
By a young maiden’s
feeble arm are won.
Not thy great victories, O Jeanne so blest!
Thy countrymen to
celebrate are come;
But thy true glories here
they would attest,
Thy purity, thy love, thy
martyrdom.
Though
she saved France, hers was yet loftier grace,
The gift Christ gave to
those who loved Him best,
Beside His cross to have
the nearest place,
He gave to Jeanne, before
He gave her rest.
In
that last torture of consuming fire
She heard her “voices”
speak once more her name,
And left earth’s exile
for her heart’s desire,
Angel of France! up that
steep path of flame.
Daughter of God! deign now our voice to hear!
Descend to us with thy
sweet heavenly glance!
Come, and convert the
land to thee so dear!
A second time, a second
time, save France!
By God’s great power
In thee displayed,
Save France! O come, save
France, Thou saintly warrior-maid!
Glorious’ O thou strong child of God! wast
thou, When English hosts to meet thee did not dare;
Yet, in thy father’s
fields, — remember now, —
Once weak and tender
lambs were in thy care.
Of all the weak
Be the defence!
In hearts of children
meek, Preserve their innocence!
Sweet martyr! keep our convents in thy care!
Our virgins are thy
sisters, each thine own,
And like to thine the
object of their prayer, —
To see God reign in every
heart alone.
This
their desire, All souls to save.
Now let them share thy
fire, Apostle, martyr brave!
When holy Church shall give thee crown and
palm, How swiftly every fear in us will faint!
Then can we sing in loud
afid rapturous psalm,
To Jeanne, our virgin,
martyr, warrior-saint: —
God grants us
hope Through thee
today! Saint Jeanne,
Saint Jeanne of France,
Pray for thy country,
pray!
1894.
Indexes
Indexes
Index of Scripture References
Index of Scripture References
<insertIndex type="scripRef" />Psalms
Ecclesiastes
Song of Solomon
Isaiah
Mark
John
Romans
Ephesians
[1]Countries evangelized by her “brothers,” the missionaries.
[2]Sister Teresa died in 1897, since then the Life of Theophane, beheaded for the faith at Tonquin in 1861, has become almost as well known as her own. These kindred souls in Heaven, have been inciting thousands of souls upon earth to spiritual heroism. He crying out for the Foreign Missions, she opening the road for Christ’s little ones to run in the hidden ways of prayer and penance.
[3]SISTER TERESA was the youngest of nine children, four of whom died in infancy, four became Carmelite nuns, and one a Visitation nun. These are the “nine lilies bright,” referred to in the poem here as forming their saintly father’s coronet in Heaven. He used to call Teresa his “little queen,” Marie his “diamond,” Pauline his “pearl.” He died of paralysis, after months of helplessness, tended by Celine. These remarks serve to explain the poem. . . .
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Books by Jack Haas
The Cosmic Christ Sacred Christian Texts online library. An alternative Christian web site. Christianity Today.
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