SAINT GERMAINE COUSIN - Patron Of Poor & Abandoned People

Saint Germaine Cousin by Sister Mary Emmanuel
illustration to the poem 'Saint Germaine Cousin, by Sister Mary Emmanuel

In France’s fields a little girl –
A shepherdess – once dwelt,
And while her flocks fed peacefully
Long hours in prayer she knelt.

Before a cross which she had made
Upon a mossy tree,
Her life was full of crosses too,
And hard as hard could be.

She was a weak and sickly child,
Who needed tender care,
And yet neglect, hard words, and blows
She always had to bear.

Her own dear mother long had died,
And left this child behind,
And she who since had filled her place,
Was cruel and unkind.

She drove the child into the fields
Because her face was sore,
She gave her blows if she came home,
Or stepped within the door.

A few hard crusts she had for food,
And rough vine twigs for bed,
When tired at night the child returned,
She slept in some old shed.

But God leaves no one quite forlorn,
He chose her for His own –
Go, ask her how she spends her days
When thus left all alone.

“Though many hours I spend alone,
My life is far from sad,
The good God spreads His gifts around,
To make me gay and glad.

“His glorious sun lights up my days,
And when it sinks at night,
His shining stars their radiance pour
And fill the fields with light.

“His great trees wave their whisp’ring arms
In blessings over me,
His fair flowers spread their colour charms
In carpets under me.

“His Cross is there. I think of Him,
Who on it bleeding lay,
I gaze upon His works around,
I cannot choose, but pray.

“But best of all, the Church is near
Wherein my Jesus lies,
And there at Mass I think of how*
For me He daily dies.

“I stick my staff into the ground,
When there to pray I go,
My sheep browse round my shepherd’s crook,
God keeps them safe, I know.”

And Germaine loved Our Lady too,
She was her own true child,
And Mary blessed her simple prayers,
And on the child she smiled.

Soft mud once covered all the ground,
When down she knelt to say,
At sound of bell the Angelus,
No speck on her did stay.

The rain poured down in torrents there
And barred the way to Mass.
“Let’s watch the saint,” the people said,
“And see how she will pass.”

She walked right through the swollen stream –
But thought herself unseen –
The waters rose upon each side,
And left her path between.

Nor were her thoughts wrapped up in self
When she saw one more poor,
She’d give to him her scanty food,
And hunger’s pangs endure.

God blessed the self-denying gift,
And multiplied her store,
One day her apron seemed so full,
That it could hold no more.

A neighbour saw her passing thus,
And told her mother then –
“Germaine,” she said, “must steal that bread
She gives to those poor men.”

The angry woman seized a stick,
“Bad child, I’ll beat her well ;
Show me,” she cried, “what you’ve got there
The truth you’ll have to tell.”

The trembling child obeyed at once,
And showed her little store,
But lo! instead of crusts of bread-
‘Twas all she had before –

Bright fragrant flowers filled her arms,
Of every brilliant hue.
“The child’s a saint,” her father cried,
“Henceforth she’ll have her due.

“For ’tis the depth of winter now,
And snow is on the ground,
Such flowers could not in Pibrach grow,
Now ever there were found.

“Now she shall have her rightful place,
And live with us at home.”
But Germaine begged to keep her sheep,
And in God’s fields to roam.

Thus she lived on her simple life
Beneath the eye of God,
And oh! how Jesus loved that child,
And blessed the path she trod.

Bright days seemed now about to dawn
Upon the patient girl,
But Jesus wants her now Himself,
She is His little pearl.

The sun in heav’n had risen high,
Her sheep were still in fold,
They sought Germaine, they found her dead,
Soon is the story told.

The night before, a holy priest
Beheld a wondrous sight,
A shining host of angel forms
Lit up the sky that night.

To Pibrach down they swiftly flew,
Then bore some soul above,
“Who is the soul?” he asked surprised,
“To whom God shows such love?”

And others saw bright visions too,
Fair virgins robed in white,
Who crowned with flowers a child of earth,
‘Mid rays of dazzling light.

Still many wondrous things she works
For those who ask her aid,
And now what lesson does she teach
This saintly shepherd-maid?

I think, don’t you? she copied well
The patience of Our Lord,
When others are unkind to us,
Let’s say no angry word.

Our dear Lord thus shall we console,
He’ll say, “‘Twas not in vain
I suffered for this patient child,
My Passion’s cruel pain.”