are mine? To whom do I open
my arms and say, “These are mine”?
Where is my dwelling place?
My Son had nowhere — nowhere to lay His head — His only bed,
Would I, His mother, have more?
Do I take my seat in the mansions of the rich? No — but I pass by and
Am I a Queen robed in gold, arrayed in the riches and honors of this
No, I am robed in humility and compassion, in mercy and innocence, my
footstep passes the houses of the great and the hovels of the poor,
for all have need to hear my call, “Come ... come my
way to my Son Jesus!”
Do I command that my own will be done?
No, but as at the Wedding in Cana, I now say to you as I said to them
— “Do what He tells you.”
Behold my kingdom, behold my dominion:
the broken heart of man! Each one is mine.
All are poor who know not my Son, all are poor who struggle
in the web of sin, all are poor who know not love.
These are mine! I press them all to my Immaculate Heart — I want them
for my Son ...
I am the Queen and Pilgrim with and for the poor;
incessantly I cry out them, “Come my way to Jesus —Who
is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”
Leave alike the mausoleums and hovels of this world: they are cinders
of a life long past ... and in the end will be scattered like ashes
in the wind ...
Come! I will show you the
Treasure of the Field,
for I know where it lies — hidden in the Wound in the side of my Son.
Come, all who are poor ... and those who know it not.
A Poor Clare Nun
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