To you, O Sœr Therèse of Lisieux,
Fresh as a morning rose in morning dew,
We give our men in keeping:
Watch them waking, watch them sleeping.
Lest our hearts should break, O keep trust and be true!
The old saints are beset with many prayers;
The knees of centuries have worn their stairs.
But you, O little nun,
Heaven’s youngest, littlest one,
You are strong to lift our burdens and our cares.
Your childish hands have roses pink and pale
That climb the trellises of Heaven and trail.
Shake your roses down before them,
Your dear heart be sorry for them,
Keep them safe within the shadow of your veil.
You lift hands for France — O lift them heaven-high,
For those who fight with France, who bleed and die.
Pluck the robe of Heaven, O Dear,
So the Heart of Heaven may hear,
That never yet was hardened to your cry!