“Jesu dulcis memoria,
  Dans vera cordi gaudia: 
  Sed super mel et omnia
  Ejus dulcis praesentia.

  “Nil canitur suavius,
  Nil auditur jocundius,
  Nil cogitatur dulcius,
  Quam Jesus Dei Filius.

  “Jesu, spes poenitentibus,
  Quam pius es petentibus,
  Quam bonus te quaerentibus,
  Sed quis invenientibus! 
  Nec lingua valet dicere,
  Nec littera exprimere: 
  Expertus potest credere
  Quid sit Jesum diligere."[A]

[Footnote A: 

  Jesus, the very thought of thee
    With sweetness fills my breast;
  But sweeter far thy face to see,
    And in thy presence rest!

  Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
    Nor can the memory find
  A sweeter sound than thy blest name,
    O Saviour of mankind!

  O hope of every contrite heart,
    O joy of all the meek,
  To those who fall how kind thou art,
    How good to those who seek!

  But what to those who find!  Ah, this
    Nor tongue nor pen can show! 
  The love of Jesus, what it is
    None but his loved ones know.]

The old monk sang with all his heart; and his voice, which had been a fine one in its day, had still that power which comes from the expression of deep feeling.  One often hears this peculiarity in the voices of persons of genius and sensibility, even when destitute of any real critical merit.  They seem to be so interfused with the emotions of the soul, that they strike upon the heart almost like the living touch of a spirit.

Agnes was soothed in listening to him.  The Latin words, the sentiment of which had been traditional in the Church from time immemorial, had to her a sacred fragrance and odor; they were words apart from all common usage, a sacramental language, never heard but in moments of devotion and aspiration,—­and they stilled the child’s heart in its tossings and tempest, as when of old the Jesus they spake of walked forth on the stormy sea.

“Yes, He gave His life for us!” she said; “He is ever reigning for us!

  “’Jesu dulcissime, e throno gloriae
  Ovem deperditam venisti quaerere! 
  Jesu suavissime, pastor fidissime,
  Ad te O trahe me, ut semper sequar te!’"[B]

[Footnote B: 

  Jesus most beautiful, from thrones in glory,
    Seeking thy lost sheep, thou didst descend! 
  Jesus most tender, shepherd most faithful,
  To thee, oh, draw thou me, that I may follow thee,
    Follow thee faithfully world without end!]

“What, my little one!” said the monk, looking over the wall; “I thought I heard angels singing.  Is it not a beautiful morning?”

“Dear uncle, it is,” said Agnes.  “And I have been so glad to hear your beautiful hymn!—­it comforted me.”

“Comforted you, little heart?  What a word is that!  When you get as far along on your journey as your old uncle, then you may talk of comfort.  But who thinks of comforting birds or butterflies or young lambs?”