← [[appendix-f-asp|Divine Intimacy #169 — Mary Our Guide and Model]] | [[aspirancy-handbook|Table of Contents]] | [[appendix-h-asp|OCDS Ritual — Rite of Admission]] → # Session 10 Poetry of Thérèse of Lisieux, PN 54: Why I Love You, O Mary! (May 1897) Copyright Washington Province of Discalced Carmelites, Inc. Used with permission. “There is still one thing I have to do before I die,” Thérèse, who was already very sick, confided to her sister Céline: “I have always dreamed of saying in a song to the Blessed Virgin everything I think about her” (PA, p. 268). During May 1897 she was already beginning to sense that her writings, including her poetry, would probably become known. And she regarded her “thoughts” on Mary as an integral part of the “very important work” she was preparing (HLC, p. 126). Perhaps they are even its crowning achievement. So the request that Sister Marie of the Sacred Heart made for her to write on the Blessed Virgin Mary anticipated a very deep personal desire on Thérèse’s part. Sister Genevieve was right in observing that Thérèse wrote this swan song “by herself, in every sense of the word.”[1] For Thérèse, thoughts (pensée) are not the same as ideas (idée).[2] Thoughts open up and blossom in her heart, she said poetically a few weeks later (GCII, p. 1160). In fact, Thérèse’s thoughts are immersed in her prayer and very quickly become prayer (SS, pp. 74-75). And it is first of all as a prayer that we should understand this long poem. It is a sort of liturgical hymn of 200 Alexandrines [in the French], written during the month of May 1897. Now more than ever, Thérèse can only “be nourished on truth” (HLC, p. 134). She has to “see things as they really are” (HLC, p. 105). As for the Virgin Mary, all that interests her is “her real life, not her imagined life” (HLC, p 161). Instinctively, she turns to the Gospels as her only source of inspiration from then on: “The Gospels are enough for me” (HLC, p. 44 and GCII, pp. 1093-1094). She herself tells us about her “method”: ‘The Gospels teach me... and my heart reveals to me...” (st. 15). She goes to the Gospels to find facts and events: “what Mary did and taught,” we would dare say, transposing Acts 1:1. Thérèse attentively “sees... looks… hears… listens to” what the Evangelists tell. (All the verbs are in the present tense, for she is really there). Consequently she omits the “glorious mysteries”: Jesus himself is waiting to sing about them in Heaven (cf. st. 24). And her heart makes her “understand” (a very Theresian verb) by a kind of connaturality the hidden meanings of those deeds, their implication for her own present life and soon even for her eternal life. Her understanding has been refined in a thousand ways during these last few months, but especially in two areas: through the mystery of suffering—and tested by it in trial—and through all the demands of charity, in which she has received special lights. All this was wrapped in silence. Thérèse’s personal experience helps her to discover in Mary’s life the same law that governed the life of Jesus, her Son: “It was necessary for her to suffer so as to enter into her glory” (cf. Lk 24:26). Jesus “wished” it so for his Mother, for mysteriously “it is a blessing to suffer on earth” (16, 5). And Mary was not satisfied with submitting to her “mortal and suffering” condition, like 53 ours (cf. 2, 8). If Thérèse does not say so explicitly, her whole poem implies that Mary freely chose her condition, out of solidarity with us. Through her whole life, she had already affirmed, and incomparably better than Thérèse would say one day “My God, I choose all that you will... I’m not afraid to suffer for you” (SS, p. 27). Or again, “I prefer what He wills. It’s what He does that I love” (HLC, p. 51). Mary preferred her hidden, poor, and suffering life to any other. At Nazareth, she “wanted nothing more” (st. 17, 2) than “to live by faith just like us” (cf. HLC, p. 161), without anything out of the ordinary. “She liked” to walk “the same ordinary way” that “little ones” also walk (st. 17). When Jesus seemed to neglect her for “the family” of his disciples, she “did not become sad.” She even “rejoiced” (st. 21). She lives all that for us: “to draw me to you,” Thérèse boldly declares (st. 2). Yes, “the Blessed Virgin knew what it was to suffer” (HLC, p. 158). She is the maternal replica of the Suffering Servant (cf. Is 53:3, quoted in GCI, p. 631 and RP 2, 3). And Mary knew the secret of “suffering while loving” (16, 4), for her “immense tenderness” is also the response to “Jesus’ immense love for us.” This love is not so much a question of quantity but of quality. Mary “loves us as Jesus loves us.” That is the second basic law of the poem. Thérèse states this with all the more authority because she is still being influenced by a recent illumination: “This year...God has given me the grace to understand what charity is...to love one’s neighbor as He, Jesus, loves him..,” (SS, pp. 219, 220). This very bright light not only renewed her relationships with others. It enabled her to “penetrate into the mysterious depths of charity” (SS, p. 233) that animated Mary’s whole life, “the secrets of her maternal heart” (22, 6). Those “abysses of love” (18, 4) led her, “like Jesus,” to give everything and to give herself” (22, 3). Thus we see the Mother sharing her “treasures” of grace with her children: “her virtues, her love” (5, 1). She also shares with “sinners” her privilege par excellence as the Mother of Jesus (sts. 20-21). What is more, she “accepts” losing Him for us, “being separated from Him.” And yet what a martyrdom she had already known during those three days in Jerusalem when the Child was separated from her (st. 13)! Mary “wants...to remain our support” (st. 22) right up to the time we meet Him in Heaven. She emptied herself totally for love; she could not go farther. So we can also say about Mary, “For our sake she made herself poor though she was rich, so that we might become rich by her poverty” (2 Cor 8:9). That is why Thérèse, moved by this, protests: How can we not love you O my dearest Mother, On seeing so much love and so much humility? (21, 7-8). Mary’s humble love is wrapped in silence and invites us to silence. This is also a main axis of the poem. For Mary, love is safer than knowledge. She is not afraid of what she does not understand. Whether in her attitude toward Joseph after the Annunciation (st. 8), in her comportment at Bethlehem (sts. 9-10), in her docile acceptance of her Son’s mysterious words in the Temple (14-15) or “on the hill” (20-21), in every situation Mary acquiesces in silence. In her faith, so often put to the test, she can fathom and understand everything (according to Thérèse). And the end of her earthly life is immersed in “deep silence” (st. 24). This is a silence that speaks more eloquently than words. Only the Word will reveal its “secrets” to us (ibid.). With her eyes fixed on Mary, Thérèse made silence the great bulwark of her whole contemplative life. Silence was her strength more than ever “in the night of faith.” One of the most moving aspects of this poem is the almost total absence of allusion to the physical and moral trials she herself was going through (cf. HLC, May 1897, pp. 40-53). Stanza 16 is the only evidence we have, and it is more intense and personal because of its flat style. Would Thérèse have seen such depths in her Mother’s heart if she herself had not been “her child” to such a striking degree? She was so much like Mary that she has been called “a ravishing miniature of the Most Holy Virgin.”[3] She was ravishing and sorrowful, for it was with “anguish of heart” (16, 2) that she ended by “giving everything and giving herself” (st. 22) for her brothers...poor sinners” (SS, p. 213). Mary and Thérèse are of the same people and of the same blood. They are “Mother” and “child,” Thérèse’s assurance about this was extremely important not only for her everyday life, but also for the heavenly relationships that are soon to begin for her. The chisel of trial had cut away “everything that could be a natural satisfaction in her desire for heaven” (SS, p. 214), But it did not succeed in shaking her conviction that she was “soon going to Heaven” (st, 25, 2). The anticipation of the marvels of paradise, as Arminjon had once described them to her,[4] no longer “thrilled her heart” (GCII, p. 1142 and DE, p. 721). Her whole attention from then on was focused on people: those she was going to meet (the Holy Family, the angels, all the blessed), and also those she would hurry back to help and to save, right up to the end of the world (HLC, p. 102). What would her encounter—so close at hand—with Mary be like? Thérèse had no use for the exaggerations of certain spiritual writers. It was unacceptable for her to imagine Mary as a being whose “glorious and powerful splendor appear with so much more brilliance than that of all the angels and saints that it is like the sun, which, by its presence, eclipses all the stars of heaven, as if they were hiding themselves in shame, not daring to appear before such beauty that surpasses theirs beyond all comparison” (text quoted in DE, p. 575). Letting such people “hide in shame,” Thérèse knew where she stood. She had suffered with Mary, as Mary had suffered for her (25, 6 and 2, 4). Such love had “banished all her fears” (18, 5). At last she was going to see once more “the ravishing smile of the Blessed Virgin” (SS, p. 66), who is more “Mother than Queen” (HLC, p.161). Thérèse put “her whole heart” into writing this last poem (CSG, p. 90).[5] It is the favorite of most of her readers and disciples. Certainly, this long “historical” work, at times too predictable and a little affected, is quite a different poetic genre than “An Unpetalled Rose” (PN 51) or “To the Sacred Heart” (PN 23). [In French] the Alexandrines are regular, steady, and almost always divided into two equal hemistiches. This well expresses the apparent “objectivity” with which the author wanted to confine herself. However, a certain restrained emotion does run through the poem, which has some great moments (sts. 8, 16, 22...). It is enriched with some beautiful images (3, 7-8; 7, 5-6...). Concise expressions come forth (10,4; 15,4— which is like Thérèse’s Credo— and the famous 22, 3). A wonderful stanza concludes the poem. “Little Thérèse” signed this poem with a faltering hand a short time before her death: What a humble, moving end to her entire poetic work! (Melody: “Pourquoi m’avoir livré l’autre jour, ô ma mere”) J.M.J.T. May 1897 ## Why I Love You, O Mary 1 Oh I would like to sing, Mary, why I love you, Why your sweet name thrills my heart, And why the thought of your supreme greatness Could not bring fear to my soul. If I gazed on you in your sublime glory, Surpassing the splendor of all the blessed, I could not believe that lam your child. O Mary, before you I would lower my eyes!... 2 If a child is to cherish his mother, She has to cry with him and share his sorrows. O my dearest Mother, on this foreign shore How many tears you shed to draw me to you!.. In pondering your life in the holy Gospels, I dare look at you and come near you. It’s not difficult for me to believe I’m your child, For I see you human and suffering like me.... 3 When an angel from Heaven bids you be the Mother of the God who is to reign for all eternity, I see you prefer, O Mary, what a mystery! The ineffable treasure of virginity. O Immaculate Virgin, I understand how your soul is dearer to the Lord than His heavenly dwelling I understand how your soul, Humble and Sweet Valley Can contain Jesus, the Ocean of Love!.. 4 Oh! I love you, Mary, saying you are the servant Of the God whom you charm by your humility. This hidden virtue makes you all-powerful. It attracts the Holy Trinity into your heart. Then the Spirit of Love covering you with his shadow, The Son equal to the Father became incarnate in you, There will be a great many of his sinner brothers, Since he will be called: Jesus, your first-born!... 5 O beloved Mother, despite littleness, Like you I possess the All-Powerful within me. But I don’t tremble in seeing my weakness: The treasures of a mother belong to her child, 56 And I am your child, O my dearest Mother. Aren’t your virtues and love mine too? So when the white Host comes into my heart, Jesus, your Sweet Lamb, thinks he is resting in you! 6 You make me feel that it’s not impossible To follow in your footsteps, O Queen of the elect. You made visible the narrow road to Heaven While always practicing the humblest virtues. Near you, Mary, I like to stay little. I see the vanity of greatness here below. At the home of Saint Elizabeth, receiving your visit, I learn how to practice ardent charity. 7 There, Sweet Queen of angels, I listen, delighted, To the sacred canticle springing forth from your heart You teach me to sing divine praises, To glory in Jesus my Savior. Your words of love are mystical roses Destined to perfume the centuries to come. In you the Almighty has done great things. I want to ponder them to bless him for them. 8 When good Saint Joseph did not know of the miracle That you wanted to hide in your humility, You let him cry close by the Tabernacle Veiling the Savior’s divine beauty!... Oh Mary! how I love your eloquent silence! For me it is a sweet, melodious concert That speaks to me of the greatness and power Of a soul which looks only to Heaven for help 9 Later in Bethlehem, O Joseph and Mary! I see you rejected by all the villagers. No one wants to take in poor foreigners. There’s room for the great ones…. There’s room for the great ones, and it’s in a stable That the Queen of Heaven must give birth to a God. O my dearest Mother, how lovable I find you, How great I find you in such a poor place!… 10 When I see the Eternal God wrapped in swaddling clothes, When I hear the poor cry of the Divine Word, O my dearest Mother, I no longer envy the angels, For their Powerful Lord is my dearest Brother!… How I love you, Mary, you who made This Divine Flower blossom on our shores!… How I love you listening to the shepherds and wise men And keeping it all in your heart with care!… 11 I love you mingling with the other women Walking toward the holy temple. I love you presenting the Savior of our souls To the blessed Old Man who pressed Him to his heart. At first I smile as I listen to his canticle, But soon his tone makes me shed tears. Plunging a prophetic glance into the future, Simeon presents you with a sword of sorrows. 12 O Queen of martyrs, till the evening of your life That sorrowful sword will pierce your heart. Already you must leave your native land To flee a king’s jealous fury. Jesus sleeps in peace under the folds of your veil. Joseph comes begging you to leave at once, And at once your obedience is revealed. You leave without delay or reasoning. 13 O Mary, it seems to me that in the land of Egypt Your heart remains joyful in poverty, For is not Jesus the fairest Homeland, What does exile matter to you? You hold Heaven… But in Jerusalem a bitter sadness Comes to flood your heart like a vast ocean. For three days, Jesus hides from your tenderness. That is indeed exile in all its harshness!… 14 At last you find him and you are overcome with joy, You say to the fair Child captivating the doctors: “O my Son, why have you done. this? Your father and I have been searching for you in tears.” And the Child God replies (O what a deep mystery!) To his dearest Mother holding out her arms to him: “Why were you searching for me? I must be about My Father’s business. Didn’t you know?” 15 The Gospel tells me that, growing in wisdom, Jesus remains subject to Joseph and Mary, And my heart reveals to me with what tenderness He always obeys his dear parents. Now I understand the mystery of the temple, The hidden words of my Lovable King. Mother, your sweet Child wants you to be the example Of the soul searching for Him in the night of faith. 16 Since the King of Heaven wanted his Mother To be plunged into the night, in anguish of heart, Mary, is it thus a blessing to suffer on earth? Yes, to suffer while loving is the purest happiness!... All that He has given me, Jesus can take back. Tell him not to bother with me…. He can indeed hide from me, I’m willing to wait for him Till the day without sunset when my faith will fade away…. 17 Mother full of grace, I know that in Nazareth You live in poverty, wanting nothing more. No rapture, miracle, or ecstasy Embellish your life, O Queen of the Elect!..... The number of little ones on earth is truly great. They can raise their eyes to you without trembling. It’s by the ordinary way, incomparable Mother, That you like to walk to guide them to Heaven. 18 While waiting for Heaven, O my dear Mother, I want to live with you, to follow you each day. Mother, contemplating you, I joyfully immerse myself, Discovering in your heart abysses of love. Your motherly gaze banishes all my fears. It teaches me to cry, it teaches me to rejoice. Instead of scorning pure and simple joys, You want to share in them, you deign to bless them. 19 At Cana, seeing the married couple’s anxiety Which they cannot hide, for they have run out of wine, In your concern you tell the Savior, Hoping for the help of his divine power. Jesus seems at first to reject your prayer: “Woman, what does this matter,” he answers, “to you and to me?” But in the depths of his heart, He calls you his Mother, And he works his first miracle for you.... 20 One day when sinners are listening to the doctrine Of Him who would like to welcome them in Heaven, Mary, I find you with them on the hill. Someone says to Jesus that you wish to see him. Then, before the whole multitude, your Divine Son Shows us the immensity of his love for us. He says: “Who is my brother and my sister and my Mother, If not the one who does my will?” 21 O Immaculate Virgin, most tender of Mothers, In listening to Jesus, you are not saddened. But you rejoice that He makes us understand How our souls become his family here below. Yes, you rejoice that He gives us his life, The infinite treasures of his divinity!... How can we not Love you, O my dear Mother, On seeing so much love and so much humility? 22 You love us, Mary, as Jesus loves us, And for us you accept being separated from Him. To love is to give everything. It’s to give oneself. You wanted to prove this by remaining our support. The Savior knew your immense tenderness. He knew the secrets of your maternal heart. Refuge of sinners, He leaves us to you When He leaves the Cross to wait for us in Heaven. 23 Mary, at the top of Calvary standing beside the Cross To me you seem like a priest at the altar, Offering your beloved Jesus, the sweet Emmanuel, To appease the Father’s justice... A prophet said, O afflicted Mother, “There is no sorrow like your sorrow!” O Queen of Martyrs, while remaining in exile You lavish on us all the blood of your heart! 24 Saint John’s home becomes your only refuge. Zebedee’s son is to replace Jesus…. That is the last detail the Gospel gives. It tells me nothing more of the Queen of Heaven. But, O my dear Mother, doesn’t its profound silence Reveal that The Eternal Word Himself Wants to sing the secrets of your life To charm your children all the Elect of Heaven? 25 Soon I’ll hear that sweet harmony. Soon I’ll go to beautiful Heaven to see you. You who came to smile at me in the morning of my life, Come smile at me again... Mother.... Its evening now!... I no longer fear the splendor of your supreme glory. With you I’ve suffered, and now I want To sing on your lap, Mary, why I love you, And to go on saying that I am your child!...... --- ## Endnotes [1] Sr. Genevieve. Note on a loose sheet of paper; cf. CSG, p. 122. [2] Thérèse uses the word “idea” [idée] 23 times in her writings, frequently with the meaning of “project, plan.” She uses the word “thought” [pensée] 143 times. [3] Abbé Hodierne, confessor to the Carmel of Lisieux just after the death of Thérèse. Quoted from a letter to Mother Marie de Gonzague, 1899. [4] Especially chapter 7 of Abbé Arminjon’s End of the Present World and the Mysteries of the Future Life. [5] Thérèse asked for Mother Agnes’s help with this poem. The rough draft is very enlightening as to how they worked together. --- **Source:** Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites, *Aspirancy Handbook: A Journey in Carmel* (US National Formation Program, 2024).