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 depth, but like oil on the surface of limpid waters, glides easily across…. These quick-succeeding changes of the feeling of joy and sadness scarcely ruffle the surface of my soul, and in its depths there reigns a peace that nothing can disturb." It was but an answer to her lifelong prayer: "I desire that Jesus should take possession of my faculties, in such a way that my actions may no longer be human and personal, but wholly divine, inspired and directed by the Spirit of Love."

Her glory on earth after death is astounding. She was given the highest honors of the Church: canonization, long before the usual time; the Vicar of Christ called her "the guiding star" of his pontificate, declared her the special patroness of all the missions, and bestowed many other marks of honor upon her. Beautiful basilicas and churches have everywhere been erected to her name. Her image looks down upon us from the walls of nearly every Catholic home, and her statue is found in almost every church and chapel throughout the world, even in the most remote and distant mission lands. Never has the like been seen. Her words are being realized: "Everyone will love me!" Rich and poor, high and low, all look to her with confidence in all their needs of soul and body, since she had assured them that God would refuse her nothing.

But who shall attempt to conceive the glory that is hers in heaven, where "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard…"? Is she not exalted above the very Seraphim—she who said that the places denied to the Apostles themselves would be given to "little children"? What glorious fruits she gathered for time and eternity! It was all by joy in suffering. Will I do likewise…?

(2) —St. Therese once wrote to one of her missionary brothers: "If in heaven I could no longer work for God's glory, I should prefer exile to home…. I trust fully that I shall not remain idle in heaven; my desire is to continue my work for the Church and for souls. I have asked this of God and am convinced that He will hear my prayer. You see that if I quit the battlefield so soon, it is not from a selfish desire of repose." On her bed of pain, as her last days drew near, the veil of the future seemed to be