St. Therese, my morning meditation

I realize this is lengthy, but this is an awesome poem written by one of my favorite saints. I love the big three Therese's, Teresa of Avila, Therese of Lisieux and Mother Teresa of Calcutta. What spiritual powerhouses. I was looking something to read this morning before Mass and I came across this. It is so beautiful. The bolded section is what my meditation will be for the day. When I hear and read what is going on in the country I get so overwhelmed. I need to focus on the Lord. I need to just leave everything in His heart. I am all Thine!...Thus the name of my blog.

ABANDONMENT
"Abandonment is the delicious fruit of love."

St. Augustine

I saw upon this earth

A marvelous tree arise;

Its vigorous root had birth,

O wonder! in the skies.

Never, beneath its shade,

Can aught disturb or wound;

There tempests are allayed,

There perfect rest is found

And love men call this tree,

From heaven's high portals sent;

Its fruit, how fair to see!

Is named abandonment.

What banquet here doth greet

Each reverent, hungry guest!

How, by its odors sweet,

The spirit is refreshed!

If we its fruit but touch,

Joy seems on us to pour.

Oh, taste, for never such

A feast was yours before.

In this tumultuous world

It brings us perfect peace;

Though storms be round us hurled,

Its quiet shall not cease.

Abandonment gives rest

In Thee, O Jesus Christ!Here is the food most blest

That has Thy saints sufficed.

Spouse of my soul, draw nigher!

I give my all to Thee.

What more can I desire

Than Thy sweet Face to see?

Naught can I do but smile,

Safe folded to Thy breast.

They who have known no guile

Find there most perfect rest.

As looks the floweret small

Up to the glorious sun,

So I, though least of all,

Seek my Beloved One.

King Whom I love the most!

The star I always see

Is Thy White Sacred Host,

Little and low like me;

And its celestial power,

Down from Thy altar sent,

Wakes in my heart that flower,

Perfect abandonment.

All creatures here below,

At times, they weary me;

And willingly I go,

With God alone to be.

And if, sometimes, dear Lord,

Of me Thou weariest,

I wait upon Thy word;

Thy holy will is best.

Smiling, I wait in peace,

Till Thou return to me;

And never shall they cease,

My songs of love for Thee.

All pain I now despise,

Naught can disquiet me;

Swifter than eagle flies,

My spirit flies to Thee.

Beyond the gloomy cloud,

Ever the skies are fair,

And angels sing aloud,

And God is reigning there.

And yet without a tear

I wait that bliss above,

Who in the Host have here

The perfect fruit of love.

May, 1897