as one whom the mother caresseth so will I comfort you."[1]
Ah, never came words more sweet, more tender, to gladden my soul. Thine arms then, O Jesus, are the lift which must raise me up even unto Heaven! For this I need not grow, on the contrary I must remain little, I must ever tend to become yet more little. O my God, Thou hast gone beyond my expectations, and I—I will sing Thy mercies! Thou hast taught me, O God from my youth: and till now I have declared Thy wondrous works. And unto old age and grey hairs[2] will I proclaim them.
HIST. D'UNE AME, CH. IX
Since it has been given to me too,
to understand the love of the Heart of
Jesus, I own that it has chased all fear
from mine! The remembrance of my
faults humiliates me, and urges me
never to depend upon my own strength
which is nothing but weakness: still
more does this remembrance speak to me
