Part 37 (1/2)

SELECTED POEMS OF SOEUR THeReSE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS

MY SONG OF TO-DAY

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!

But if I dare take thought of what the morrow brings, It fills my fickle heart with dreary, dull dismay; I crave, indeed, my G.o.d, the Cross and sufferings, But only for to-day!

O sweetest Star of Heaven! O Virgin, spotless, blest, s.h.i.+ning with Jesus' light, guiding to Him my way!

Mother! beneath thy veil let my tired spirit rest, For this brief pa.s.sing day!

Soon shall I fly afar among the holy choirs, Then shall be mine the joy that knoweth no decay; And then my lips shall sing, to Heaven's angelic lyres, The eternal, glad To-day!

June, 1894.

MEMORIES

Selected Stanzas

”I find in my Beloved the mountains, the lonely and wooded vales, the distant isles, the murmur of the waters, the soft whisper of the zephyrs ... the quiet night with its sister the dawn, the perfect solitude--all that delights and all that fires our love.”--St. John of the Cross.

I hold full sweet your memory, My childhood days, so glad, so free.

To keep my innocence, dear Lord, for Thee, Thy Love came to me night and day, Alway.

I loved the swallows' graceful flight, The turtle doves' low chant at night, The pleasant sound of insects gay and bright, The gra.s.sy vale where doth belong Their song.

I loved the glow-worm on the sod; The countless stars, so near to G.o.d, But most I loved, in all the sky abroad, The s.h.i.+ning moon of silver bright, At night.

The gra.s.s 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!

My rainbow in the rain-washed skies-- Horizon where my suns arise-- My isle in far-off seas--pearl I most prize-- Sweet spring and b.u.t.terflies--I see In 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.

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 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!

I hear, e'en I, Thy last and least, The music from Thy Heavenly Feast; There, deign receive me as Thy loving guest And, to my harp, let me but sing, My King!

Unto the Saints I shall be near, To Mary, and those once treasured here.