July 18, 1890.
MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, -- I send you a passage from Isaias which will comfort you. Long ago the Prophet's soul was filled with the thought of the hidden beauties of the Divine Face, as our souls are now. Many a century has passed since then. It makes me wonder what is Time. Time is but a mirage, a dream. Already God sees us in glory, and rejoices in our everlasting bliss. How much good I derive from this thought! I understand now why He allows us to suffer.
Since Our Beloved has |trodden the wine-press alone,| the wine-press from which He gives us to drink -- on our side let us not refuse to be clothed in blood-stained garments, or to tread out for Jesus a new wine which may quench His thirst! When |He looks around Him,| He will not be able to say now that |He is alone| -- we shall be there to help Him.
|His look as it were hidden.| Alas! it is so even to this day, and no one understands His Tears. |Open to Me, My Sister, My Spouse,| he says to us, |for My Head is full of dew and My Locks of the drops of the night.| Thus Jesus complains to our souls when He is deserted and forgotten . . . To be forgotten. It is this, I think, which gives Him most pain.
And our dear Father! -- it is heartrending, but how can we repine since Our Lord Himself was looked upon |as one struck by God and afflicted|? In this great sorrow we should forget ourselves, and pray for Priests -- our lives must be entirely devoted to them. Our Divine Master makes me feel more and more that this is what He asks of you and me.