MY WISHES BEFORE THE TABERNACLE.

Though in a foreign land I dwell afar,
I taste in dreams the endless joys of heaven.
Fain would I fly beyond the farthest star,
And see the wonders to the ransomed given!
No more the sense of exile weighs on me,
When once I dream of that immortal day.
To my true fatherland, dear God! I see,
For the first time I soon shall fly away.
Ah! give me, Jesus! wings as white as snow,
That unto Thee I soon may take my flight.
I long to be where flowers unfading blow;
I long to see Thee, O my heart's Delight!
I long to fly to Mary's mother-arms, --
To rest upon that spotless throne of bliss;
And, sheltered there from troubles and alarms,
For the first time to feel her gentle kiss.
Thy first sweet smile of welcoming delight
Soon show, O Jesus! to Thy lowly bride;

O'ercome with rapture at that wondrous sight,

Within Thy Sacred Heart, ah! let me hide.
O happy moment! and O heavenly grace!
When I shall hear Thee, Jesus, speak to me;
And the full vision of Thy glorious Face
For the first time my longing eyes shall see.
Thou knowest well, my only martyrdom
Is love, O Heart of Jesus Christ! for Thee;
And if my soul craves for its heavenly home,
Tis but to love Thee more, eternally.
Above, when Thy sweet Face unveiled I view,
Measure nor bounds shall to my love be given;
Forever my delight shall seem as new
As the first time my spirit entered heaven.
June 12, 1896.
O little key! I envy thee,
For thou canst ope, at any hour,
The Eucharistic prison-house,
Where dwells the God of Love and Power.
And yet -- Oh, tender mystery! --
One effort of my faith alone
Unlocks the tabernacle door,
And hides me there with Christ my Own.
O lamp within the holy place,
Whose mystic lights forever shine!
I fain would burn with fires of love
As bright, before my God and thine.
Yet, miracle of wondrous bliss!
Such flames are mine; and, day by day,
I can win souls to Jesus Christ,
To burn with His pure love for aye.
O consecrated altar-stone!
I envy thee with every morn.
As once in Bethlehem's blessed shed,
The Eternal Word on thee is born.
Yet, gentle Saviour! hear my plea;
Enter my heart, O Lord divine!
Tis no cold stone I offer Thee,
Who dost desire this heart of mine!
O corporal that angels guard!
What envy of thee fills my breast!
On thee, as in His swaddling bands,
I see my only Treasure rest.
Ah Virgin Mother! change my heart
Into a corporal pure and fair,
Whereon the snow-white Host may rest,
And thy meek Lamb find shelter there.
O holy paten! Jesus makes
Of Thee His sacramental throne.
Ah! if He would abase Himself,
To dwell awhile with me alone!
Jesus fulfils my longing hope,
Nor must I wait until I die; --
He comes to me! He lives in me!
His ostensorium am I!
The chalice, too, I fain would be,
Where I adore the Blood divine!
Yet, at the holy sacrifice,
That Precious Blood each day is mine.
More dear to Jesus is my soul,
Than chalices of gold could be;
His altar is a Calvary new,
Whereon His Blood still flows for me.
Only one little bunch of grapes
That gladly disappears for Thee,
O Jesus, holy, heavenly Vine!
Thou knowest I rejoice to be.
Beneath the pressure of the cross,
I prove my love for Thee alway;
And ask no other joy than this, --
To immolate myself each day!
Among the grains of purest wheat,
O happy lot! he chooses me.
We lose our life for Him, the Christ, --
What rapturous height of ecstasy!
Thy spouse am I, Thy chosen one.
My Well-Beloved! come, dwell in me.
Thy beauty wins my heart. Oh, come!
Deign to transform me into Thee!
1896.