She was a St. Theresa in her way.
His address to her, with which his volume closes, may thus be translated
in homely guise. In the original it has no merit, except as uttering his
affectionate and reverent feeling towards his patient, the peasant
girl,--"the sick one, the poor one." But we like to see how, from the
mouths of babes and sucklings, praise may be so perfected as to command
this reverence from the learned and worldly-wise.
Farewell; the debt I owe thee
Ever in heart I bear;
My soul sees, since I know thee,
The spirit depths so clear.
Whether in light or shade,
Thy soul now dwelling hath;
Be, if my faith should fade,
The guide upon my path.
Livest thou in mutual power,
With spirits blest and bright,
O be, in death's dark hour,
My help to heaven's light.
Upon thy grave is growing,
The plant by thee beloved,[5]
St. Johns-wort golden glowing,
Like St. John's thoughts of love.
Witness of sacred sorrow,
Whene'er thou meet'st my eye,
O flower, from thee I borrow,
Thoughts for eternity.
Farewell! the woes of earth
No more my soul affright;
Who knows their temporal birth
Can easy bear their weight.
[Footnote 5: She received great benefit from decoctions of this herb,
and often prescribed it to others.
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