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. 37 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.

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. 38 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