St. John saw Mary represented in that woman clothed with the sun, who held the moon under her feet. “And there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet.”[1274] Interpreters explain the moon to signify the goods of this earth, that are uncertain, and change as the moon does. All these goods Mary never had in her heart, but always despised them and kept them under her feet; living in this world as a solitary turtle-dove in a desert; placing her affection on no earthly thing, so that it was said of her: The voice of the turtle is heard in our land: “Vox turturis audita est in terra nostra.”[1275] And again, “Who is she that goeth up by the desert?”[1276] whence Rupert says: “Thou hast gone up by the desert, that is, having a solitary soul.”[1277] Mary, then, having always lived entirely detached from the things of earth, and only united to God, not bitter, but very sweet and dear to her was death, which united her more closely to God, by the eternal bonds of paradise. Secondly, peace of conscience renders the death of the just precious. The sins committed in life are those worms that the most torment and gnaw the heart of poor dying sinners, who, about to be presented at the divine tribunal, see themselves at that moment surrounded by their sins, which terrify them, and pursue them with cries, as St. Bernard says: “We are thy works, we will not desert thee.”[1278] Certainly Mary could not be afflicted in death by any remorse of conscience, for she was always holy, always pure, and always free from every shade of actual and original sin; hence it was said of her: Thou art all fair, oh my love, and there is not a spot in thee: “Tota pulchra es, amica mea, et macula non est in te.”[1279] As soon as she had the use of reason, that is, from the first moment of her immaculate conception in the womb of St. Ann, from that time she began with all her powers to love her God; and thus she continued to do, ever advancing more in perfection and love through her whole life. All her thoughts, her desires, her affections, were wholly given to God; not a word, not a motion, not a glance of the eye, not a breath of hers that was not for God and for his glory, never departing one step, nor separating herself for one moment from the divine love. Ah! in the happy hour of her death how did all the lovely virtues which she practised during her life surround her blessed bed! That faith so constant, that affectionate confidence in God, that patience so strong in the midst of sufferings, that humility in the midst of so many privileges, that modesty, that meekness, that compassion for souls, that zeal for the divine glory, and above all, that perfect charity towards God, with that entire uniformity to the divine will—all, in a word, thronged around her, and consoling her, said: We are thy works, we will not desert thee: “Opera tua sumus, non te deseremus.” Oh Lady and mother,