Saint Vincent de Paul, was the third of six brothers, who grew up in a humble family, like Saint Joan of Arc he worked from a very young age and with that he helped to support his brothers and his parents, with great qualities of learning he was soon appointed priest, see here the poem to Saint Vincent de Paul.
Poem to Saint Vincent de Paul
There is a poem that was written by a French poet named Francis Coppé, is one of those who has been able to express in a simple and direct way the feelings and pure and true of the heart, is to know that St. Vincent de Paul was a great man servant of God and the poor as was St. Isidore of Seville, that God always accompanied in everything he did, here we leave the poem to St. Vincent de Paul.
This great man like St Martin de Porres was an inspiration for her to write poems that reflected his great heart and the love he had for his fellow men and for our Almighty God. St Vincent de Paul was searching for the meaning of his life and his destiny, until one day it was God himself who made him reflect and touched him, that was when he discovered his true vocation, “Tenderness”, from then on his life changed radically. Enjoy the poem about St Vincent de Paul.
The poem
Vincent de Paul is a pious old chaplain of the galleys, of a humble and open heart, of charity without pause or rest, and of open and popular manners.
When he arrived in Paris, some nuns gave him lodgings in the convent hospital: There he had a bed and two hard chairs,
and a picture of the Virgin with the Child for every gift and present.
At the mercy of the impulse that burned within him, he went about morning and evening, doing well when he visited the destitute nursery with paternal affection,
Then, without vain boasting, he would go to the palace and beg alms from the Regent.
He begs, he begs persistently, he shows his commitment, he devotes himself to all those who suffer, and with holy zeal he gives with his right hand what his other hand receives. But every day he grows older and sicker, and walks with a limp.
Because of his ardent charity, he received the mercy he had asked for a condemned man whom he judged innocent. He took his place, and with bitter sorrow
For six months he trudged, weary and listless. The cannonball and the chain.
There in the populous suburbs, the people who see him return to the city in darkness, and enter the portals carrying in his cloak a newborn, barren and cold, that he found in some deserted corner and saved from death, they repeat the name of the little old man with the bald neck, and they are already friends of such a good man.
But tonight, as the twelve bells slowly chime and the nuns sing matins, Vincent returns sadly to his convent, dragging his legs, weary from so much wandering with no end in sight.
He had walked all over Paris without luck, suffering rain and mud; he had not been received badly anywhere, but he had asked for so much that almost everyone had turned back with good manners; the queen had kept all her money for the Val-de-Grace; Mazarin, who had promised lightly, had become more and more stingy in his giving.
The day’s journey was bad; but the old man, with a resigned soul, thinking he had slept well, and more upright, hurried back to his inn.
When he reached the door, he saw a little boy lying in the mud, and he bent over him with holy zeal. He is lethargic and numb;
He calls to him, caresses him, begs him, insists…
Poor boy! what a sad life! his parents have been taken from him by the grace of God; he has no home or shelter; he has not eaten a bad crust all day; he has not eaten a bad crust all day; Vincent’s call is soft, his forehead is grim, and he answers in a harsh, hard voice.
“Come,” said the old man, and he put the rusty key in the creaking lock. He took the child in his arms, without reproach, who spilled the dirt, went up to his cell and laid him on his bed; and thinking that it was very cold at midnight in February, and that the unhappy orphan, badly wrapped up, was freezing, full of good desires, he laid the wet blanket at his feet.
Trembling and shivering, he sat down in an uncomfortable chair in front of the picture, which beautifully represented the Virgin without a stain, and began to pray. Oh marvel! the picture brightened up, its eyes flickered with the sweetest sparkle, it gently fell away from his neck.
The arms of Jesus are around him; she offers the child, smiling and radiant, to St Vincent de Paul and says to him with a trembling lip: “Here, kiss him: Kiss him yourself, you deserve it”. Watch this video.
