[ENTRY INTO HEAVEN—­September 30, 1897]

_____________________________

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 God, the Cross and sufferings,
      But only for to-day!

O sweetest Star of Heaven!  O Virgin, spotless, blest,
   Shining with Jesus’ light, guiding to Him my way! 
Mother! beneath thy veil let my tired spirit rest,
      For this brief passing 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 grassy vale where doth belong
      Their song.
. . . . . . .

I loved the glow-worm on the sod;
The countless stars, so near to God,
But most I loved, in all the sky abroad,
The shining moon of silver bright,
      At night.
. . . . . . .

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!
. . . . . . .

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 butterflies—­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.
. . . . . . .