Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal and Baptismal Anniversary

Sixty-seven years of my life were to pass by before I discovered for the first time the date and place of my Baptism: Friday the 27th of November 1953, which is the Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. My mother took me, a baby born three weeks previously, to be baptised in the Church of St Teresa of the Child Jesus in Perry Barr, Birmingham.

La Rosée divine is the first poem that Saint Thérèse wrote.[dated 2nd February 1893]. I have translated the poem into English and present it here:

    • to offer thanks to Almighty God for all His gifts to me, but especially for my Baptism; 

    • to offer high veneration and thanks to Our Blessed Mother on this her feast day; and 

    • to offer my filial love and prayers for my beloved mother who departed this life on the 30th November, 1977; for my Godmother, Winifred Hartley; and for the priest who baptised me: Fr Gerard Jackson. 

Mary with Baby Jesus. By Emily B. 

In her poem, Saint Thérèse writes of a Baby and a Mother’s milk, elaborating this sublime image in a number of moving meditations. The image calls to mind that time in my life when I was myself utterly dependent on my mother’s loving sustenance. 

Now in my seventh decade, I can only muse on how blessed we are who have in Heaven our Blessed Mother Mary to sustain us with her love and to help us on our journey here below.

La Rosée Divine

Ou

le Lait Virginal de Marie

By Ste Thérèse of the Child Jesus (1893)

The Divine Dew

or

The Maidenly Milk of Mary

1.

Mon Doux Jésus, sur le sein de ta Mère
Tu m'apparais, tout rayonnant d'Amour.
L'Amour, voilà l'ineffable mystère
Qui t'exila du Céleste Séjour...
Ah ! laisse-moi me cacher sous le voile
Qui te dérobe à tout regard mortel
Et près de toi, ô Matinale Etoile !
Je trouverai un avant-goût du Ciel.

My Gentle Jesus, on Thy Mother’s breast,
I see Thee radiating tender Love,
The Love which can’t be easily expressed,
And exiled Thee from home in Heaven above…
If only next to Thee I could but hide
Beneath the veil, concealed from mortal sight,
To be, O Morning Star, close by Thy side!
‘T would be a Heav’nly foretaste of delight.

2.

Dès le réveil d'une nouvelle aurore
Quand du soleil on voit les premiers feux
La tendre fleur qui commence d'éclore
Attend d'en haut un baume précieux
C'est du matin la rosée bienfaisante
Toute remplie d'une douce fraîcheur
Qui produisant une sève abondante
Du frais bouton fait entrouvrir la fleur.

When sunrise, just to show that dawn is nigh,
Reveals the first of little, golden beams,
The tender flower openeth its eye
And waits to taste the balm of which it dreams:
Behold, the morning dew upon the ground,
All freshly fragrant at this early hour;
The rising sap it maketh to abound
And open up the little bud in flower.

3.

C'est toi, Jésus la Fleur à peine éclose,
Je te contemple à ton premier réveil,
C'est toi, Jésus, la ravissante Rose,
Le frais bouton, gracieux et vermeil.
Les bras si purs de ta Mère chérie
Forment pour toi berceau, trône royal
Ton doux soleil, c'est le sein de Marie
Et ta Rosée, c'est le Lait Virginal !...

 Oh Jesus —Thou the tiny flower Who grows
And opens up before my wond’ring sight;
Oh Jesus — Thou the crimson, scented rose,
Whose fresh and fragrant bud is sweet delight.
In Mother’s purest arms Thou taketh rest,
All cradled as within a royal pew;
Thy gentle sun forsooth is Mary’s breast,
Her Virgin milk for Thee celestial dew!

4.

Mon Bien-Aimé, mon divin petit Frère
Dans ton regard je vois tout l'avenir
Bientôt pour moi tu quitteras ta Mère
Déjà l'Amour te presse de souffrir
Mais sur la croix, ô Fleur Epanouie !
Je reconnais ton parfum matinal,
Je reconnais la Rosée de Marie.
Ton sang divin, c'est le Lait Virginal !...

Beloved little brother, yet divine,
I see Thy future hidden in Thy gaze;
For me Thou leavest mother by design,
Love’s call to suffer soon Thy heart obeys
But on the Cross, in fullest bloom out-splayed!
I recognise in Thee the morning scent,
The dew of Thy dear mother, Mary maid:
Her milk Thy blood divine from Heaven sent!

5.

Cette rosée se cache au sanctuaire,
L'ange des Cieux la contemple ravi,
Offrant à Dieu sa sublime prière
Comme Saint Jean, il redit : «Le voici»
Oui, le voici, ce Verbe fait Hostie,
Prêtre éternel, Agneau sacerdotal,
Le Fils de Dieu, c'est le Fils de Marie,
Le pain de l'Ange est le Lait Virginal.

The sanctuary hides this living dew
Where Heaven’s angel offers in delight
A prayer to God on high, sublime and true:
Like John who cried “Behold!”when catching sight
Of Him, the Word made flesh, who’s now the Host,
High-Priest for ever, Lamb who aye was slain, 
The Son of Mary, by the Holy Ghost,
Angelic bread, sweet Virgin’s milk remains.

6.

Le séraphin se nourrit de la gloire,
Au Paradis son bonheur est parfait
Moi faible enfant, je ne vois au ciboire
Que la couleur, la figure du Lait
Mais c'est le Lait qui convient à l'enfance
Et de Jésus l'Amour est sans égal
O tendre Amour ! Insondable puissance
Ma blanche Hostie, c'est le Lait Virginal !..

With glory Seraphs feed contentedly,
Their joy in Heaven scales the highest height;
But, lowly babe and suckling, all I see
In this ciborium is milky white;
To nourish little ones, this milk’s just right,
And Jesus’ Love is here, beyond compare;
O tenderest of Love! Undreamed of might,
This Host so white is Virgin’s milk so rare!

Totus tuus ego sum

Et omnia mea tua sunt;

Tecum semper tutus sum:

Ad Jesum per Mariam.