This grace of light has been given to me during my retreat.  Our Lord desires that we should receive Him into our hearts, and no doubt they are empty of creatures.  Alas! mine is not empty of self; that is why He bids me come down.  And I shall come down even to the very ground, that Jesus may find within my heart a resting-place for His Divine Head, and may feel that there at least He is loved and understood.

XIV

April 25, 1893.

MY LITTLE CELINE,—­I must come and disclose the desires of Jesus with regard to your soul.  Remember that He did not say:  “I am the flower of the gardens, a carefully-tended Rose”; but, “I am the Flower of the fields and the Lily of the valleys."[25] Well, you must be always as a drop of dew hidden in the heart of this beautiful Lily of the valley.

The dew-drop—­what could be simpler, what more pure?  It is not the child of the clouds; it is born beneath the starry sky, and survives but a night.  When the sun darts forth its ardent rays, the delicate pearls adorning each blade of grass quickly pass into the lightest of vapour. . . .  There is the portrait of my little Celine!  She is a drop of dew, an offspring of Heaven—­her true Home.  Through the night of this life she must hide herself in the Field-flower’s golden cup; no eye must discover her abode.

Happy dewdrop, known to God alone, think not of the rushing torrents of this world!  Envy not even the crystal stream which winds among the meadows.  The ripple of its waters is sweet indeed, but it can be heard by creatures.  Besides, the Field-flower could never contain it in its cup.  One must be so little to draw near to Jesus, and few are the souls that aspire to be little and unknown.  “Are not the river and the brook,” they urge, “of more use than a dewdrop?  Of what avail is it?  Its only purpose is to refresh for one moment some poor little field-flower.”

Ah!  They little know the true Flower of the field. Did they know Him they would understand better Our Lord’s reproach to Martha.  Our Beloved needs neither our brilliant deeds nor our beautiful thoughts.  Were He in search of lofty ideas, has He not His Angels, whose knowledge infinitely surpasses that of the greatest genius of earth?  Neither intellect nor other talents has He come to seek among us. . . .  He has become the Flower of the field to show how much He loves simplicity.

The Lily of the valley asks but a single dewdrop, which for one night shall rest in its cup, hidden from all human eyes.  But when the shadows shall begin to fade, when the Flower of the field shall have become the Sun of Justice,[26] then the dewdrop—­the humble sharer of His exile—­will rise up to Him as love’s vapour.  He will shed on her a ray of His light, and before the whole court of Heaven she will shine eternally like a precious pearl, a dazzling mirror of the Divine Sun.