28th November 1944.
This morning I woke up in the gentlest way. I was still dozing when I heard the most pure voice I have ever heard sing a slow lullaby very sweetly. The song was so slow and archaic that it sounded a Christmas pastoral. I followed the melody and the voice, enjoying them more and more until I awoke completely. I then understood fully what was taking place, and I said: « Hail, Mary, full of Grace! » because it was Mother singing. And She raised Her voice after saying to me: « I greet you, too. Come and be happy! »
And I saw Her in the house in Bethlehem, in Her room, intent on lulling Jesus to sleep. In the room, there were Mary's loom and some needlework. I think Mary had stopped working to give the Child suck and change His swaddling bands, I should say His clothes, because He was already a few months old. I would say six, or eight months at most. Perhaps Mary was thinking of resuming Her work after the Child had fallen asleep.
It was evening. The sun was setting and there were many small golden clouds in the clear sky. Some herds were going back to their folds, browsing on the last grass of a flowery meadow and bleating with their heads uplifted.
The Child was about to fall asleep. He seemed a little restless, as if He had teething trouble, or some other minor pain of childhood.
I wrote the song on a piece of paper as well as I could, in the dim light of a very early morning, and I will now copy it.
« Little golden clouds seem the herds of the Lord On the meadow full of flowers another herd is watching. But if I had all the herds that exist in the world, The lambkin dearest to Me You would always be. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, Cry no more Many glittering stars are twinkling in the sky. May Your sweet gentle eyes shed no more tears. Your eyes of sapphire are the stars of My heart. Your tears make Me cry oh! cry no more. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, Cry no more All the sparkling angels that in Heaven be, Form a wreath around You, innocent Child enraptured by Your face. But You're crying for Your Mummy Mummy, Mummy, Mum. To sing Your lullaby lulla, lulla, lu. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, Cry no more The sky will soon be red and dawn will soon be back, And Mummy had no rest to ensure You do not cry. « Mamma » when awake You'll call Me « Son » I will reply. A kiss of love and life I'll give you with My breast. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, Cry no more You do need Your Mummy also if You dream of Heaven. Come, do come! Under My veil I will make You sleep. My breast is Your pillow Your cradle My arms, Do not fear, My dear I'm here with You Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, Cry no more I'll always be with You You're the life of My heart He is sleeping like a flower Resting on My breast He is sleeping Be quiet! His Father perhaps He sees, And the sight wipes the tears Of my sweet Jesus. He Sleeps, sleeps, sleeps, sleeps, And He cries no more »
It is impossible to describe the graceful charm of the scene. It is only a mother lulling Her little one. But she is that Mother, and He is that Little One! You can therefore imagine what gracefulness, what love, what purity, what Paradise is in this little, great, sweet scene, the memory of which makes me so happy and is confirmed by the melody I continuously sing, so that you may also hear it. But I do not have the most pure silvery voice of Mary, the virginal voice of the Virgin! And I will sound like a cracked organ. It does not matter. I will do my best. What a beautiful pastoral it would be, to be sung round the Crib at Christmas!
Mary at first rocked the wooden cradle very slowly. Afterwards, when She saw that Jesus was not calming down, She took Him in Her arms, sitting near the open window, with the cradle beside Her, and swinging lightly to the rhythm of the song, She repeated the lullaby twice, until Jesus closed His little eyes, He turned His head round on to His Mother's breast and fell asleep thus, His little face resting on the cosy warmth of His Mother's breast, one hand also on Her breast near His rosy cheek, the other one relaxed on Her lap. Mary's veil shaded Her Holy Creature.
Then Mary got up most carefully and laid Jesus in the cradle, She covered Him with small linens, She spread a veil to protect Him from flies and the fresh air, and She remained contemplating Her sleeping Treasure. She held one hand over Her heart, while the other was leaning on the cradle, ready to rock it if necessary, and She smiled happily, slightly bent while darkness and silence were falling on the earth and were invading Her little virginal room.
What peace! What beauty! I am so happy!
It is not a grand vision and it will perhaps be considered quite useless in the mass of the other visions, as it does not reveal anything special. I know. But it is a real grace to me and I consider it such, because it makes my spirit placid, pure, loving, as if it were created again by Mother's hands. I think that you will like it as well, in that sense. We are « little children ». Better thus! Jesus likes us. Let the others, who are learned and complicated, think what they like and let them say that we are « childish ». We do not mind, do we?