Dans le Sacré-Cœur

To Promote The Reign of Christ the King Through the Triumph of the Immaculate Heart of Mary

Canticle of the Angel of the Holy Passion — November 26, 2015

Canticle of the Angel of the Holy Passion

Thou Word of Love,

Manifested in the Christ-Man, the Son of God!

Thy Side opened and poured out!

Hung on the Tree of abandoning Love,

Thy precious Body,

Mingled with Holy Blood!

O Lowly Divinity!  O Glorious Humanity!  Brighter than the lights in the universe!

Holy Love consummates His Love for man,

Who kisses with prideful sneers

Conceals their outrages in majestic purple,

Offers to Him a reed,

And places a spiky crown o’er His Sacred Head!

O Divine King,

From Thy Adorable Heart, Blood and Water flow!

Along with the Spirit of Love!

Longinus’ stony heart healed!

Thy footstool’s foundation shakes!

Saints awake!

Flying at the sound of Thy gentle sigh!

O Crucified God of Love,

How beautiful art Thou in death,

As Thou art in life!

More lovely than all the flowers that adorn Thy footstool and Thy Throne!

Taken from the Tree,

Placed in the pure Hands of Thy Mother,

The Blessed Virgin,

White Rose of purity!

Who begot Perfection!

Stainless Rose who holds Thee,

O Red Rose bleeding!

From the manger crib,

To the bed-tomb!



Canticle and Decree of The Angel — November 13, 2015

Canticle and Decree of The Angel

St. Vincent Ferrer

Hear ye! Hear ye! The Almighty God of Love reigns forever and ever in the everlasting Kingdom of Heaven! His precious Blood, flowing perpetually from His pierced Heart, is poured out, like a flowing river, onto the tip of the earth, covering it, and falling to its base. His Sacred Heart is forever filled with love for man, whose name is imprinted on His Heart. Yet Divine Love is starving, starving! His sweet, gentle words: “I thirst”. Yes, Divine Love thirsts for love, for adoration, for souls, for their entry into the bosom of Abraham. Nay, even more delightful! Into the Wedding Feast of the Lamb and His Bride! Alas, this sweet and sorrowful King, Whom His crown was a circle of thorns and Whom His bed was a wooden cross, pants with anguish. Himself, Love Incarnate, is what He gave, what He has given, and what He continues to give to the world, that absolute and adorable pearl of great price, and is met with disdain, indifference, and hatred by most men. He loved all! Yet is loved by very few! As a response to this crime against Love, many noble souls seize it upon themselves to satisfy His Divine Justice, asking for Him to pour His Divine Mercy upon souls that offend Him. Yet these noble souls neglect something of a much greater importance. Why dost thou desire to appease sinners, but not thy God, who “was never without sorrow or suffering” then and is never without sorrow or suffering now? Thou hast much zeal for souls. Where is thy zeal for God? Thou hast much love for souls. Where is thy love for God? Where is the mercy that is shown to sinners, to God? Who was it Who said, “Have pity on Me”? O hear ye, hear ye!  Men of the earth! The Child Savior wants pity from mere humans! O how simple and humble is Our Child Savior! How glorious is He in His humility and simplicity! O noble souls, why not satisfy the Heart of God, bruised by the ingratitude of poor sinners, by the offering of one’s self? When one hears an unkind or blasphemous word, why not say, in the depths of one’s heart one Ave Jesu and one Ave Maria? It will soothe and gladden His Little Heart, since children are pleased by the littlest of things. Even more worthy, a glance or a sigh of love towards any of the numerous arrays of His Images suffices!  Let thy Love see thy love in secret and He will bless thee.  Hear ye! Hear ye! Where is the soul who wishes to appease and please God before all of mankind? Where is the soul who wishes to satisfy Divine Love for all the affronts He has suffered from sinners? Where is the soul who wishes to make a gift of himself to Divine Love in order for Him to be loved and for the salvation of souls? Where is the Veronica who will offer her veil to the suffering Spouse of the Church and wipe His Face clean from the outrages of profaners and the impious? Where is the soul who will wash the King’s Feet with her tears and kiss Them, wipe Them with her hair, and anoint Them with ointment? That is the purpose of this pleading canticle.

Divine Love commands: “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me”.

Arise, little souls! Regardless of thy station and duties in life, thou art charged with contemplating God and the things of Him, following the Child Savior and imitating Him in thy short pilgrimage on earth, so that by Him abiding in thy hearts, as He dost in the tabernacle, hidden for love of men, thou may receive salvation from Him who is the Lover of souls.




The Angels of the Crib by St. Therese of The Child Jesus and of the Holy Face — October 23, 2015

The Angels of the Crib by St. Therese of The Child Jesus and of the Holy Face

(from Catholic First: http://catholicfirst.com/thefaith/catholicclassics/sttherese/poemsofsttherese06b.html#THE%20ANGELS%20OF%20THE%20CRIB)





Thou Word of God, Thou Glory of God!

In awe I gazed on Thee above;

And now I see that Glory of God,

That Word of God, made Man through love.

O Child, whose light doth blind the sight

Of angels in high heaven divine!

Thou’rt come to save the world tonight,

And who can fathom that love of Thine?

     In swaddling bands

The Child-God ties.

Lord of all lands!

Trembling before Thy face I veil mine eyes.

Yes, who can fathom this marvellous thing?

God makes Himself a little Child,

He, the eternal, almighty King,

Afar from His own heaven exiled!

Fain would I give Thee love for love!

Thee will I guard by day and night,

My utter fealty to prove,

    Thou tiny Jesu, Light of Light!

Thy cradle so dear

Draws angels anear.

O Child-God! now

Trembling before that humble crib I bow.

While earth has power from heaven to bring

My King to want and cold and woe,

Heaven holds no longer anything

To keep me from that world below.

My wings shall shield Thy Baby head;

Thee will I follow everywhere;

Beneath Thy tiny feet I’ll fling

The sweetest flowers and most fair.

Oh, would some radiant star might fall,

To form Thy cradle, Baby bright!

Would I the dazzling snow could call,

To be Thy curtains pure and white!

Would all the lofty hills might bow

In lowly homage at Thy feet!

Oh, would the fields might bloom for Thee,

Celestial blossoms heavenly sweet!

For all the flowers are smiles of God,

     Are distant echoes from His throne,

Are notes that wander far abroad

From that great harp He holds alone.

Those notes of harmony divine

Relate His goodness unto men,

And in their melody combine

To tell His saving love again.

O that sweet melody,

Exquisite harmony,

Silence of flowers

Ye tell His greatness, His wonders, His powers!

Well know I, Jesu! that Thy friends,

Thy dearest friends, are living flowers.

Thou travellest to earth’s farthest ends,

To cull them for heaven’s fadeless bowers.

Souls are the flowers with beauty rife

That draw Thee from the heavens high;

Thy tiny hand first gave them life,

And Thou for them wilt gladly die.

Mystery ineffable!

Thou, Word adorable,

Surely shalt one day weep

When Thou the harvest of those flowers shalt reap.


Yes, from the morning of Thy days, dear Child!

Thy blessed Face is bathed in burning tears.

Those tears upon that Face all undefiled

Still shall flow on throughout Thy earthly years.

O Face divine!

So fair Thou art

From angel eyes

      The glories of the skies depart.

Under its veil of anguish sore and dread,

I see Thy loveliness all charms above;

In Thy worn, pallid Face, O Jesu dead!

I see Thy Child face in its perfect love.

For pain to Thee, my Jesus! was so dear

That even Thy Baby eyes the future saw,

And Thou didst long to drink the chalice drear,

  Thy very dreams could Thee to Calvary draw.

O wonderful dream!

Thou Child of a day,

From Thy face but one beam

Thrills my heart with its ray.


Angel of man’s Redeemer! weep no more.

I come with comfort for sad hearts and sore.

This Child shall yet gain

All men’s hearts as their King;

He shall arise and reign

Almighty, triumphing.

O God! concealed in childish guise before us,

I see Thee glorious,

O’er all things victorious.

I shall roll back the great tomb’s rocky door,

I shall behold Thy lovely Face once more,

And I shall sing,

And I shall then rejoice,

When I shall see my King,

And hear again His voice.

Thy childish eyes, though dim tonight with tears,

Shall shine with heavenly light throughout the eternal years.

O Word of God!

Thy speech, like burning flame,

Shall sound one day abroad,

And all Thy love proclaim.


Gaze on, dear Angel, heavenward‑flown,

Gaze, while our King ascends on high;

But I, to seek His altar‑throne,

  Down to the distant earth will fly.

Veiled in His Eucharist I see

  The Almighty Lord, the Undefiled,

The Master of all things that be,

More tiny than the humblest child.

Here will I dwell in this blest place,

The sanctuary of my King;

And here, before His veiled Face,

  My hymns of ardent love will sing.

Here, to my heaven strung angel lyre,

My praise I’ll chant, by night, by day,

To Him, the Feast for saint’s desire,

To Him, the sinner’s Hope and Stay.

Would that by miracle, I too

Could feed upon this heavenly Bread;

Could taste that Blood forever new,

That Blood which was for all men shed!

At least, with some pure longing soul,

I’ll share my fires of love divine,

That so, all fearless, glad and whole,

It may approach its Lord and mine.


Soon shall the awful day of judgment come,

This wicked world shall feel the avenging flame;

All men shall hear pronounced their endless doom,

  And these to bliss shall pass, and those to shame.

Then shall we see our God in glory bright,

No longer hidden in this cradle small;

Then shall we sing His triumph after fight,

And then proclaim Him Lord and King of all.

As stars shine out when furious storms are passed,

   His eyes shall shine, now veiled in blood and tears;

And His eternal splendor shall at last

Appear again, after these anguished years.

Upon the clouds our Jesus shall be borne,

Beneath the standard of the cross on high;

And evil men who hailed Him once in scorn

Shall know their awful judge is drawing nigh.

Ah, ye shall tremble, habitants of earth!

Ah, ye shall tremble on that final day,

No longer able to withstand the wroth

Of this dear Child, the God of love to‑day.

For you He chose to tread the path of pain,

Seeking your hearts alone, to Him so dear:

But when at last He comes to earth again,

How shall ye quail before His Face in fear!

ALL THE ANGELS, with the exception of THE ANGEL


O Jesu, deign to hear the prayer,

That we, Thy Angels offer Thee!

Thy people save, Thy people spare,

Thou who didst come the world to free!

With Thy small hand avert this dart,

Appease this Angel with the sword;

Save every meek and contrite heart

That seeks Thy mercy, dearest Lord!


My faithful Angels, tried and true!

Far from the heavenland of your birth,

Hear, for the first time, speak to you

The Eternal Word made Man on earth!

I love you well, O spirits pure!

Angels from heaven’s high courts above!

Yet men I love with love as sure,

Yea, with an everlasting love.

I made their infinite desires,

Their souls were made at My decree;

A heart that kindles with My fires

Becomes a heaven on earth for Me.

The Angel of the Infant Jesus asks Him to gather upon earth an abundant harvest of inno­cent souls, before they have been tainted by the impure breath of sin.


Dear Angel of My childhood’s hours!

I grant the answer to thy prayer.

Many shall be the innocent flowers

I will preserve all lily fair.

Yes, I will cull those blossoms gay,

Fresh with their pure baptismal dew;

And they shall bloom in endless day,

In ecstasy forever new.

Their fair corollas, silvery bright,

More brilliant than a thousand fires,

Shall be the Milky Way of light

  ‘Mid all the starry heavenly choirs.

I must have lilies for My crown,

The Lily of the Field am I!

And I must have to grace my throne,

A sheaf of lilies in the sky.

The Angel of the Holy Face asks pardon for sinners.


Thou who dost gaze upon My Face

In ecstasy of seraph love,

Leaving for love of it thy place

Of glory in My heaven above!

Thy prayer I hear, I grant thy plea.

Each soul that on My name shall call

Shall find relief, shall be set free

From Sin’s dark curse, from Satan’s thrall.

Thou who dost seek to honor here

My Cross, My Passion, My bruised Face:

Learn now this mystery, angel dear!

Each soul that suffers shares thy grace.

The radiance of its pain borne now,

In heaven upon thy face shall shine;

The martyr’s halo decks thy brow,

His glory shall be drawn from thine.

The Angel of the Eucharist asks what he can do to console our Lord for the ingratitude of men.


Dear Angel of the Eucharist!

Thou, thou dost charm Me every hour;

Thy song, by heaven’s own breezes kissed,

Over My suffering soul hath power.

Ah, the great thirst of My desires!

  I crave, I crave, the hearts of men.

Dear Angel, melt them with thy fires,

And win them to My Heart again!

Would each anointed priest might be

Like Seraphim beyond the skies,

What time he comes to offer Me

My pure and holy Sacrifice

To work such miracle of grace,

It needs must be that night and day,

Souls near the attar seek a place

To watch and suffer, weep and pray.

The Angel of the Resurrection asks what will become of the poor exiled ones left on earth when the Saviour shall have ascended into heaven.


Back to My Father I shall go,

Thither to draw the men I love;

And heaven’s long bliss they then shall know,

When I shall welcome them above.

When the last hour of time appears,

My flock shall come again to Me;

And I shall be, for endless years,

Their Light, their Life, their Ecstasy


Goodness supreme and dost Thou then forget

  Sinners must meet at last, the doom decreed ?

Dost Thou forget, in Thy great love, that yet,

Their number is nigh infinite indeed ?

At the last judgment I shall punish crime,

Evil before My wrath shall shrink and bow;

My sword is ready Jesu! ’tis the time.

My sword is ready to avenge Thee now.


Great Angel, turn aside thy sword

I am the Messenger of Peace.

The nature taken by thy Lord

‘Tis not thy work to judge. O cease!

‘Tis I shall judge the human race,

Jesus My name, all names above.

I grant My elect ones boundless grace.

For men I died, and I am Love!

Dost thou not know that, every day,

The blasphemies of faithless lips

Before one love glance pass away,

And find therein assured eclipse?

The souls I choose, the souls I spare,

Shall reign in glory like the sun.

‘Tis Mine own life I give them there,

And they and I shall there be one.


Before Thee, Child divine, the Cherubim bow lowly,

Lost in amaze as they Thy love all boundless see.

Fain would we die like Thee, on Calvary’s summit holy,

Fain would we die like Thee!


Sung by all the Angels.

How great the bliss of man, Thy low and humble creature.

In ecstasy would fain each seraph undefiled

Put off, O Jesus sweet, his grand angelic nature,

Would fain become a child!

                                                                                                Noel, 1894

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