Love!. . . that is what I ask. . . . I know but one thing now—-to love Thee, O Jesus! Glorious deeds are not for me, I cannot preach the Gospel, shed my blood . . . what does it matter? My brothers toil instead of me, and I, the little child, I keep quite close to the royal throne, I love for those who fight.
HIST. D'UNE AME, CH. XI
How shall I show my love since love is proved by deeds? Well,—the little child will strew flowers . . . she will embalm the Divine Throne with their fragrance, will sing with silvery voice the canticle of love.
Yes, my Beloved, it is thus that my life's brief day shall be spent before Thee. No other means have I of proving my love than to strew flowers; that is, to let no little sacrifice escape me, not a look, not a word, to avail of the very least actions and do them for Love. I wish to suffer for Love's sake and for Love's sake even to rejoice; thus shall I strew flowers. Not one shall I find
