TO THE VENERABLE THEOPHANE VENARD,

"My only Love is Christ."
From the Acts of her Martyrdom
Christ is my Love alone, all life is He for me;

He is my one Betrothed, Who charms my dazzled eyes;

E'en now I hear vibrate the solemn harmony
Of His melodious sighs.

With precious stones and gold He decks my flowing hair,

Already on my hand shines bright His nuptial ring;

And many lustrous stars, magnificently fair,
Are love-gifts from my King.

With pearls, all price beyond, has He adorned my hands;

About my neck He placed a necklace wondrous bright;

Celestial rubies red, from far-off unknown lands,
Bedeck my ears to-night.
Betrothed am I to Him on Whom the angels wait,
Trembling before His throne throughout eternity;

The sun and moon His praise with rapture will relate,

Till time shall cease to be.

Divine His Person is; heaven is His realm of bliss;

He for His Mother chose a Virgin here on earth;
Who no beginning hath, nor end, His Father is, --
Eternal is that birth.

Ah! when this Jesus Christ at times to touch I dare,

More pure becomes my heart; more chaste, dear Lord, am I!

The kisses of His mouth give me the treasure fair
Of blest virginity.
His signet He hath set already on my face,
That so no earthly love may dare draw nigh to me;
Kept thus for Christ alone, by His abiding grace,
His perfect purity.

Cleansed by the precious Blood He shed on Calvary's cross,

Already here I taste of heaven's matchless bliss;

The honey and the milk -- with joys that know not loss --

Come to me with His kiss.

No thought of fear have I, of either flame or sword:

For naught can now disturb this perfect heavenly peace

A fire of love divine pervades my soul, O Lord:
And never shall it cease.
January21, 1896.
MARTYRED.
O Theophane, [2] angelic martyr blest!
All the elect to sing thy praise aspire;
And thee to hail, behold! there stand confest
The Seraphim, with love divine on fire.
I, a poor exile still on this dull earth,
Can not with them my joyful song combine;
Yet will I take my harp, and sing thy worth,
And claim thee as a kindred soul to mine.
Thy brief bright sojourn here was like a psalm
Of heavenly melody, all hearts upraising;
Thy poet nature sang sweet songs like balm,

Through all thy life thy dearest Saviour praising.

Writing thy farewell thy last earthly night,
That farewell was a song of Spring and love,
"I, little butterfly, the first take flight,
Of all our loved ones, to our home above."
Thou, happy martyr! in the hour of death
Didst taste the deep delight of suffering:

Thou didst declare, e'en with thy dying breath,

That it is sweet to suffer for the King.
When the stern headsman made thee offer fair
Thy torture to abridge, how swift thy word:

"Oh, blest am I my Master's cup to share!

Long let my suffering last with Christ my Lord!"

O virginal lily! life had but begun,
When Jesus heard thy loving heart's desire.
I see in thee a flower whose race is run,
Yet his hand plucked it but to lift it higher.
And now, no longer, exile dost thou know;
Thy ecstasy the Blest exult to see.
Thou Rose of love! the Virgin white as snow
Rejoices in thy heavenly purity.
Soldier of Christ, thy armor lend to me!
For sinners' souls I long to give my life;
For them to give my tears, my blood, like thee:
Protect me then, and arm me for the strife!

For them I fain would fight, till life is done; --

God's kingdom take by force, their souls to save.

"Not peace to earth I bring," (so spake God's Son),

"But fire and sword I bring." Oh, saving glaive!

How dear is now to me that pagan horde,
The object of thy burning love below;
If Jesus would to me such grace accord,
Ah, thither with what ardor would I go.
Before Him space and distance fade away.
This earth is but a plaything on the breeze;
My actions, my small sufferings to-day,
Can make my Jesus loved beyond the seas.
Oh, were I but a fading springtime flower,
That soon the Lord would gather to His breast!
Come down, O Theophane, at my last hour;
Come down for me, thou youthful martyr blest!
Come, with the virginal flames of purest love,
Come, burn from out my soul all earthly clay,
That I may fly to heaven's courts above,
And join thy cohort in unending day.
February 2, 1897.

[2] Sister Teresa died in 1897, since then the Life of Theophane, beheaded for the faith at Tonquin in 1861, has become almost as well known as her own. These kindred souls in Heaven, have been inciting thousands of souls upon earth to spiritual heroism. He crying out for the Foreign Missions, she opening the road for Christ's little ones to run in the hidden ways of prayer and penance.