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TO SCATTER FLOWERS.
O Jesu! O my Love! Each eve I come to fling Before Thy sacred Cross sweet flowers of all the year. By these plucked petals bright, my hands how 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! |
With deep, untold delight Thy beauty fills my soul. Would I might light this love in hearts of all who live! For this, my fairest flowers, all things in my control, How fondly, gladly I would give! |
To scatter flowers! — behold my chosen sword For saving sinners’ souls and filling heaven’s bowers. The victory is mine: yes, I disarm Thee, Lord, With these my flowers! |
The petals in their flight caress Thy Holy Face; They tell Thee that my heart is Thine, and Thine alone. Thou knowest what these leaves are saying in my place; On me Thou smilest from Thy throne. |
To scatter flowers! — that means, to speak of Thee, — My only pleasure here, where tears fill all the hours; But soon, with angel hosts, my spirit shall be free, To scatter flowers! |
June 28, 1896
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