Ah, Christ! Thy great example teaches me
Myself to humble, honours to despise.
A little one—as Thou—I choose to be,
Forgetting self, so I may charm Thine Eyes.
My peace I find in solitude,
Nor ask I more, dear Lord, than this:
Be Thou my sole beatitude,
And ever—in Thee—renewed
My joy, my bliss!
Thou, the great God Whom earth and Heaven adore,
Thou dwell'st a prisoner for me night and day;
And every hour I hear Thy Voice implore:
"I thirst—I thirst—I thirst—for love alway!"
I, too, Thy prisoner am I;
I, too, cry ever unto Thee
Thine own divine and tender cry:
"I thirst!" Oh, let me die
Of love for Thee.
For love of Thee I thirst! fulfil my hope;
Augment in me Thine own celestial flame!
For love of Thee I thirst! too scant earth's scope:
The glorious Vision of Thy Face I claim!
My long, slow martyrdom of fire
Still more and more consumeth me.
Thou art my joy, my one desire,
Jesu! may I expire
Of love for Thee.
April 30, 1896.
TO SCATTER FLOWERS
O Jesus! O my Love! each eve I come to fling
My springtide roses sweet before Thy Cross divine;
By their plucked petals fair, my hands so 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!