Twenty-fourth meditation. The Blessed Virgin standing at the foot of the Cross

First point.

Consider the most blessed Virgin, in all constancy standing at the foot of the cross of her Son. Ah! what do you seek, O Mother of Life, in this place of Calvary and of death? Truly, not for joy, but for your dear Son. With your whole maternal heart you desire to be united to Him; therefore, do I behold you in this place of Calyary, bound and exposed with your divine Son.

Second point.

Love attracted all the pains> torments, wounds, the whole Passion of Our Kedeemer into the heart of His most blessed Mother. The same nails that crucified the body of the divine Son crucified the heart of the Mother. The thorns of His crown pierced her soul so that she could truly exclaim: " My Beloved is a bouquet of myrrh to me, but so loved that He remains between my breasts, that is, in my breast, in the centre of my heart."

Third point.

Contemplate the most blessed Virgin as a mystical bee, extracting honey from the wounds of the Lion of the tribe of Juda, immolated, torn to pieces, and lacerated on the cross. " O Child of the cross," said she, "let us glory in Thy admirable mission which the world does not comprehend. O all you who pass through this world, behold how amiable is the death of my Son, since it is the sovereign outcome of His love. Ah! my Jesus must die that the human race may not perish."

Affections.

Tour holy Abbess, O religious souls, is not on the mountain of Thabor, but on the hill of Calvary, where she beholds only opprobrium, impotence, the lance, the nails, and darkness. O Mother of devoted love, the waves of affliction cannot extinguish your charity, though one tiny drop of trouble and contradiction causes me to take refuge behind my suffering and beloved Jesus.

Most blessed Virgin, as you were a vessel of election, the greatest, the most capable, the most worthy in the world, you were also, more than any other, filled with bitterness, with the beverage of anguish which your Beloved drank in this place of torments. Ah! what does this teach me, if not to receive tribulations as something that I share with our Spouse? O Mother most pure, you call to us, saying: " Come, my daughters, let your hearts be like empty vessels, and my Son will pour into them the dew with which His forehead is covered, and the drops of the night of His Passion with which His head is adorned. He will turn them for you into pearls of consolation." My sweet Mother! obtain for me the grace henceforth to receive all occasions of humiliation, of suffering, and of abjection, as tiny drops of blood trickling from that precious head.

O mystical Bee, grant me the grace that, in the hive of my cloister and in the small apartment of my heart, I may, in imitation of you, make practical use of the honey gathered from the sacred wounds of Our Saviour. Depart from me, earthly cravings! The gall of my King is sweeter to me than the honeycomb. O Mother of sorrows and fountain of love, never permit me to withdraw from the hallowed foot of the adorable cross.