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We mount then in this holy exercise from step to
step, by the creatures which we invite to praise God,
passing from the insensible to the reasonable and
intellectual, and from the Church militant to the
triumphant, in which we rise through the angels and
the saints, till above them all we have found the
most sacred virgin, who in a matchless air praises
and magnifies the divinity more highly, holily and
delightfully than all other creatures together can
ever do.
Being two years ago at Milan, whither the veneration
of the recent memory of the great Archbishop S.
Charles had drawn me, with some of our clergy, we
heard in different churches many sorts of music: but
in a monastery of women we heard a religious whose
voice was so admirably delightful that she alone
created an impression more agreeable, beyond
comparison, than all the rest together, which though
otherwise excellent, yet seemed to serve only to
bring out and raise the perfection and grace of this
unique voice.
So, Theotimus, amongst all the choirs of men and
all the choirs of angels, the most sacred virgin's
clear voice is heard above all the rest, giving more
praise to God, than do all the other creatures. And
indeed the heavenly King in a particular manner
invites her to sing: Show me thy face, says he, my
well-beloved, let thy voice sound in my ears: for thy
voice is sweet, and thy face comely.(1)
But these praises which this mother of honour and
fair love, together with all creatures, gives to the
divinity, though excellent and admirable, come so
infinitely short of the infinite merit of God's
goodness, that they bear no proportion to it: and
therefore, although they greatly please the sacred
benevolence which the loving heart has for its
well-beloved, yet do they not satiate it. Wherefore
it goes forward and invites our Saviour to praise and
glorify his eternal Father with all the benedictions
which a Son's love can furnish him with.
And then, Theotimus, the spirit comes unto a place
of silence, for we can no longer do aught but wonder
and admire. O what a canticle is this of the Son to
his Father! O how fair this dear wellbeloved is
amongst all the children of men! O how sweet is his
voice, as issuing from the lips upon which the
fulness of grace was poured! All the others are
perfumed, but he is perfume itself; the others are
embalmed, but he is balm poured out; the Eternal
receives others' praises, as scents of particular
flowers, but perceiving the odour of the praises
which our Saviour gives him, doubtless he cries out:
Behold the smell of the praises of my Son is as the
smell of a plentiful field, which I have blessed!(2)
Yes, my dear Theotimus, all the benedictions which
the Church militant and triumphant offers to God are
angelic and human benedictions; for, although they
are addressed to the Creator, yet they proceed from
the creature; but those of the Son are divine, for
they not only tend to God, as the others, but they
flow from God: the Redeemer being true God, they are
not only divine in respect of their end but also of
their origin; divine, because they tend to God;
divine, because they issue from God. To others God
gives his inspiration and sufficient grace, for the
utterance of praise; but that of the Redeemer, he,
who is God, himself produces, and therefore it is
infinite.
He who, on a morning, having heard for some good
space of time in the neighbouring woods the sweet
chanting of finches, linnets, goldfinches, and such
like little birds, should in the end hear a
master-nightingale, which in perfect melody filled
the air and ear with its admirable voice, doubtless
would prefer this one woodland singer before the
whole flock of the others.
So, having heard all the praises which so many
different sorts of creatures, in emulation of one
another, render unanimously to their Creator, when at
length we listen to the praise our Saviour gives, we
find in it a certain infinity of merit, of worth, of
sweetness, which surpasses all the hope and
expectation of the heart: and the soul, as if
awakened out of a deep sleep, is then instantly
ravished with the extreme sweetness of such melody.
Ah! I hear it: Oh! the voice, the voice of my
well-beloved! the king-voice of all voices, a voice,
in comparison with which all other voices are but a
dumb and gloomy silence!
See how this dear love springs forward, see how he
comes leaping upon the highest mountains,
transcending the hills: his voice is heard above the
Seraphim, and all other creatures; he has the eyes of
a roe to penetrate deeper than any other into the
beauty of the sacred object which he desires to
praise. He loves the melody of the glory
and praise of his Father more than all others do, and
therefore he takes his Father's praises and
benedictions in a strain above them all. Ah! behold
him, this divine love of the beloved, how he stands
behind the wall of his humanity, making himself to be
seen through the wounds of his body and the opening
of his side, as by windows, and as by a lattice
through which he looks out on us.(3)
Yea, truly, Theotimus, divine love being seated upon
our Saviour's Heart as upon his royal throne, beholds
by the cleft of his pierced side all the hearts of
the sons of men: for this Heart being the King of
hearts keeps his eyes ever fixed upon hearts. But as
those that look through a lattice see others clearly,
and are but half-seen themselves, so the divine love
of this Heart, or rather this Heart of divine love,
continually sees our hearts clearly and regards them
with the eyes of his love, but we do not see him, we
only half-see him.
For, O God! if we could see him as he is, we
should die of love for him, so long as we are mortal;
as he himself died for us while he was mortal, and as
he would yet die, if he were not immortal. O when we
hear this divine Heart, as it sings with a voice of
infinite sweetness the canticle of praise to the
divinity, what joy, Theotimus, what efforts of our
hearts to spring up to heaven that we may ever hear
it!
And verily this dear friend of our hearts invites
us to this. Arise, make haste, leave thyself and take
thy flight towards me, my dove, my beautiful, unto
this heavenly abode, where all is joy and nought is
heard but praises and benedictions. All is flowers,
all is sweetness and perfume; the turtles, the most
silent of all birds, yet there take up their songs.
Come, my well-beloved and all-dear; and to see me
more clearly, come to the same windows by which I see
thee: come and behold my heart in the clefts of the
opening in my side, which was made when my body, like
a house in ruins, was so pitifully broken down on the
tree of the cross: come, show me thy face. Ah! I see
it now without thy showing it, but then I shall see
it, and thou shalt show it me, for thou shalt see
that I see thee: let thy voice sound in my ears, for
I would join it with mine thus shall thy voice be
sweet and thy face comely.
O what a delight will it be to our hearts, when,
our voices being tuned and accorded to our Saviour's,
we shall take part in the infinite sweetness of the
praises which the well-beloved Son gives to his
eternal Father!
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