ament adored! Come to
my heart . . . it craveth but for Thee! And when Thou comest,
straightway let me die Of very love for Thee; this boon impart!
Oh, hearken Jesus, to my suppliant cry: Come to my heart!

In the morning, when the Holy Viaticum was carried to the
Infirmary, the cloisters were thickly strewn with wild flowers and
rose-petals. A young Priest, who was about to say his first Mass
that day in the Chapel of the Carmel, bore the Blessed Sacrament
to the dying Sister; and at her desire, Sister Mary of the
Eucharist--whose voice was exceptionally sweet--sang the following
couplet:

Sweet martyrdom! to die of love's keen fire:
The martyrdom of which my heart is fain!
Hasten, ye Cherubim, to tune your lyre;
I shall not linger long in exile's pain!
. . . . . . .

Fulfill my dream, O Jesus, since I sigh
Of love to die!

A few days later Therese grew worse, and on July 30 she received
Extreme Unction. Radiant with delight the little Victim of Love
said to us: "The door of my dark prison is ajar. I am steeped in
joy, especially since our Father Superior has assured me that
to-day my soul is like unto that of a little child after Baptism."

No doubt she thought she was quickly to join the white-robed band
of the Holy Innocents. She little knew that two long months of
martyrdom had still to run their course. "Dear Mother," she said,
"I entreat you, give me leave to die. Let me offer my life for
such and such an intention"--naming it to the Prioress. And when
the permission was refused, she replied: "Well, I know that just
at this moment Our Lord has such a longing for a tiny bunch of
grapes--which no one will give Him--that He will perforce have to
come and steal it. . . . I do not ask anything; this would be to
stray from my path of self-surrender. I only beseech Our Lady to
remind her Jesus of the title of _Thief,_ which He takes to
Himself in the Gospels, so that He may not forget to come and
carry me away."

. . . . . . .

One day Soeur Therese took an ear of corn from a sheaf they had
brought her. It was so laden with grain that it bent on its stalk,
and after gazing upon it for some time she said to the Mother
Prioress: "Mother, that ear of corn is the image of my soul. God
has loaded it with graces for me and for many others. And it is my
dearest wish ever to bend beneath the weight of God's gifts,
acknowledging that all comes from Him."

She was right. Her soul was indeed