JESUS AT BETHANY.

MARY MAGDALENE. My God, Thy work complete! At last I seek Thy grace. Here at Thy holy feet, To-day I choose my place. From earth I sought in vain For ease, or joy, or rest; Sorrow and weary pain Alone have filled my breast. OUR LORD. Yes, Magdalene, rest here, With contrite, humble heart. Men’s scorn no longer fear! Choose thou the better part. Hereafter live in peace, Holy and pure, for Me; And I shall never cease To suffer, child, for thee. MARY MAGDALENE. It is too much! My sore And burdened heart will break. Could I be born once more, Or die, for Thy sweet sake! But I have caused Thy grief, For me Thou art to die. How shall I find relief For all this misery? 85 OUR LORD. Yes, many, many tears Mine eyes have shed for thee Yet speedily thy fears Shall change to love for Me. Thy soul, made pure again, By one calm word of Mine, In heaven, free from pain Shall live a life divine. MARY MAGDALENE. Holy and stainless One! How dare I seek Thy face? What have I ever done To win from Thee such grace? I spurned in other years Thy patient love for me; Now, naught have I but tears To offer Lord, to Thee. OUR LORD. Those pure, repentant tears Shine brighter in My sight Than any star appears In radiant glow at night. Than precious pearls more dear Thy contrite heart to-day. O sorrowing soul, draw near! Thy guilt is washed away. MARY MAGDALENE Thou Lord of heaven and earth, What marvelous mystery! Hath nothing, then, the worth To win Thy heart from me? Behold, how full of charms The hill, and sea, and sky, 86 The lambs that seek Thine arms The rivers flowing by! OUR LORD. I see the lilies bloom, Unsullied, fair, and white; Yet My large heart hath room For thy heart’s rose to-night. That rose at last has won My choice ‘mid flowerets rare From all beneath the sun I choose its blossoms fair. MARY MAGDALENE. The bird’s pure, warbling voice Chants sweetest song to Thee; The rippling brooks rejoice, And praise Thee merrily; The lily of the vale Its perfumes hastes to bring And petals, starlike, pale, Before Thy feet to fling. OUR LORD. On ivoried, regal throne, In glorious array, The great King Solomon Is less than these to-day; The daisies in the field Surpass his princely state; And yet to thee they yield, On thee they gladly wait! MARY MAGDALENE. A virginal train above, With robes more white than snow, Give thee their constant love, 87 And go where Thou dost go. I, of a blighted life, Offer the end to Thee, From its frail morning rife With bitter misery. OUR LORD. I love the fires of dawn, So bright, so pure, so fair; But ah! I also love The radiant evening air. The soul, if it repent, Shall find at last its home, There where the sinless tent, ’Neath heaven’s o’erspreading dome. MARY MAGDALENE. The angels there delight To show their love for Thee. Upon their phalanx white Thy blessing ever be! A sinful soul am I, Who naught have merited. Must Thou not pass me by? Is mine the children’s bread? OUR LORD. Higher than angels mount, Shalt thou ascend one day! Close, close to Love’s own fount, Shalt thou abide alway! But first, on earth a while In prayer live silently, And thus gain souls from guile To give their hearts to Me. MARY MAGDALENE. 88 Oh! with what ardent zeal My heart at last doth burn! What deep desire I feel To give Thy love return! Yet souls to win for Thee, Too weak, too blind, am I. Lend Thou Thy heart to me; — None then shall pass me by. MARTHA. Lord, one word I ask! Behold my sister there! Now bid her, dearest Lord, to help me serve Thy meal. She thinks not of my tasks; for me she hath no care; She ought to wait on Thee; for me some pity feel! OUR LORD. Dear Martha, hostess kind and good! Why should you thus your sister blame? True, naught she thinks about My food, Yet waits she on Me all the same. MARTHA. Ah, Lord divine and dear! ‘tis this surprises me. Ought she not, then, awhile, to cease to dream and pray ? Should she not choose what gift shall be her gift to Thee, Who lavishly dost give to her and me each day? OUR LORD. Nay, Martha! listen to My Word! Your faithful, generous love I know; Yet doth your sister to her Lord As faithful love and homage show, MARTHA. Deep myst’ries are these words that greet mine ears to-day. 89 I can not help but think, — oh! let me tell my thought! Better to work good works than many prayers to say; — The love I feel for Thee must into deeds be wrought. OUR LORD. True, Martha! works are needful here; I came, Myself, to work with care; Yet I would have this truth stand clear; One must transfigure work with prayer. MARTHA. I knew that I was right; for, did I idly rest, No charm should I possess in Thy benignant eyes; So I made haste, to serve for Thee, my holy Guest, Some pleasant food, to win Thy praise; — ‘tis all I prize. OUR LORD. Generous your ardent soul, and good! Martha, your works show forth your worth; Yet would you know the only food That I desire to have on earth? One single work is needful here! Your sister, biding near My heart, In love’s own prayer, divinely dear, Hath chosen thus the better part. Yes, this the part that is the best! So I declare, and Truth am I. Now, Martha, come and share her rest, Her blessed rest, for Love am I! MARTHA. At last I understand! O Jesus, Love supreme, Thy glance hath pierced my soul, Thy meaning now I see. My gifts are all too small, my services a dream; My heart the priceless gift that Thou wouldst have from me. 90 OUR LORD. Yes, ‘tis thy loving heart I crave; For this I came from heaven above. The glories ‘tis My right to have, I left, to seek your love, your love! MARTHA. Why, then, O Saviour-dear, if I may ask Thee this, Why, within Simon’s house, didst greatly praise Marie? For surely in her life she gave Thee pain, I wis; And stormy days, in her, Thy sorrowing eyes must see OUR LORD. Martha! I understand her heart, By pain and sin and sorrow rent; For souls love much if pardoned much, And sorely, sorely they repent. MARTHA. Amazed am I the more by Thy great love and power, For naught know I, dear Lord, of sin’s wild strength and shame. What do I owe Thee, then Who, from my earliest hour, Hast shielded me in peace, and kept me free from blame? OUR LORD. A soul kept pure through all its days, — Chief masterpiece of Love Divine, — Should give Me rapturous, endless praise, And wholly and alone be Mine. Yes, Martha, you have charmed My sight, By lifelong, stainless purity; Yet, while your soul is spotless white, Your sister hath humility! MARTHA. 91 To win Thy love, dear Lord! through all my life to be, Earth’s honors I will scorn, and all its pomps despise, And Mary’s part will choose, while working still for Thee; Thy love alone shall be of value in mine eyes. OUR LORD. Many the souls you thus shall claim From sin’s dark haunts to seek My Face; And you shall bear afar the flame Of faith, and love’s immortal grace. MARTHA AND MARY. Thy voice, O Jesus Christ! is sweetest melody, That wins our love to Thee, and sets our hearts on fire. Abide Thou here alway, our Life on earth to be: Abide Thou here alway, our hearts’ supreme Desire! OUR LORD. True joy have I at Bethany, Where find I oft a welcome true; And in my Father’s home shall be A wondrous blessing granted you. Yes, you the mystery comprehend That makes drear earth My precious prize; For souls of prayer are dear to Me, A vast reward for sacrifice. Beyond heaven’s joys I prize such souls! Heaven’s glories, one day, yours shall be; My goods your loving prayer controls, Your Spouse am I eternally. Here, faithful friends, ye gave Me meat; But, in the feast at heaven’s board, Ye shall sit down to food more sweet, While on you waits your God and Lord. July 29, 1895.

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BIRD CAGE OF THE INFANT JESUS.

For us, poor exiles from our birth, God made the pretty little birds; Among the hills and dales of earth They sing His praises without words; But sometimes playful childish hands, Choosing the ones they like the best, Keep them in cages, where the bands Are gilded bars for these oppressed. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * O Jesus, little Brother dear! For us from Heaven didst Thou flee; Thou knowest well Thy bird-cage here Is Carmel, and Thy birds are we. Our cage is gilded not at all, Yet oh! how precious ‘tis to me! To hill or plain from its high wail Not one of us would wish to flee. Let not the outer world intrude! No joy to us it now could bring. Child Jesus! in our solitude For Thee, for Thee alone, we sing. Thy tiny hand has us beguiled; Thy infant-charms no words can tell; Thy smile, most sweet and Holy Child! Has won Thy birds to love Thee well. Here finds the simple, candid soul The only object of its love; Here is the vulture’s fierce control No longer dreaded by the dove. Upon the wings of burning prayer Theardent heart ascends on high, As swift the lark doth cleave the air, With sweet, enraptured, joyful cry. Here, in Thy praises to engage, The nightingale and veery came. O Little Jesus! in Thy cage Thy birds are carolling Thy Name. 93

The little bird it always sings, Nor fear for its small meal doth know; A grain of wheat contentment brings; It sows not, spins not, here below. Within this cage where we have fled, Is all provided through Thy care; The one thing needful, Thou hast said, Is just to love Thee, Child most fair! So, through the hours, we sing Thy praise, With glad, pure spirits ever blest. We know the angels, all the days, Love Carmel’s birds within their nest. Jesu! Thy bitter tears to dry, That sinful men have wrung from Thee, Thy birds to win back souls will try, By their sweet songs of ecstasy. One day, when earth and time are o’er, And Thy clear call to us is given, Then angel-hands shall ope the door; Thy birds shall take their flight to Heaven; And there, with charming, songful hosts Of little cherubs glad and gay, Thy happy birds from Carmel’s coasts Shall praise Thy Holy Name alway. December 25, 1896.