164 DISCOURSES OF FATHER HYACINTHE. 



" Seeds of salvation, motherly ^vords and tones, 

 Spring up, and cover all my life with fruit! 

 To her whose hand first sowed you in my heart, 

 I pledge undying gratitude and love,"-' 



I pause at this aspiration, which was my uncle's 

 and is mine, and close, with no small emotion, the 

 story of that religious festival which took place in the 

 depth of a country province, at Château Gontier, sixty 

 years ago, and which I meet again, celehrated with so 

 much of solemnity and of popular interest in this capi- 

 tal, which may sometimes appear to forget its God, 

 but never its dead. These hells of the second of Novem- 

 ber have tears on their brazen cheeks, and sobs in their 

 tones; but as I listen to them, even while I write these 

 lines, I seem to hear in them the echo of tlie voice of 

 Patmos : 



"I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me: write. 

 Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. Yea, saith 

 the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, and 

 their works do follow them." 



Brother Hyacinthe, 



Barefooted Carmelite. 

 Paris, Xovcml3er 2, 18G8. 

 [All-Souls Day.] 



* Salutaires leçons, préceptes maternels, 

 Croissez, et de vos fruits couvrez ma vie entière t 

 A celle dont la main vous sema la première. 



Mou cœur a cousacré dos regrets immortels. 



