Friends at Court

New Zealand Tablet, 31 August 1911, Page 1667

Friends at Court

GLEANINGS FOR NEXT WEEK'S CALENDAR September 3, Sunday.—Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost. Commemoration of the Holy Roman Pontiffs. ~ 4, Monday.—St. Rose of Viterbo, Virgin. ~ 5, Tuesday. —St. Lawrence Justinian, Bishop and Confessor ~ 6, Wednesday.—St. Rumold, Bishop and Martyr. ~ 7, Thursday.—St. Eugene 111., Pope and Confessor.

~ 8, Friday. Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. ~ 9, Saturday. —St. Kyran, Abbot.

St. Lawrence Justinian, Bishop and Confessor.

St. Lawrence, member of an influential family at Venice, embraced, at an early age, a life of poverty and mortification. The contempt and ridicule which this step brought upon him served, owing to his extreme humility, as a subject for constant rejoicing. Having been appointed Archbishop and Patriarch of Venice, he succeeded in effecting a wonderful reformation throughout his diocese, a result due to his meekness and prudence, as well as to the example of his saintly life. He died in 1455, at the age of 74.

St. Rumold, Bishop and Martyr.

St. Rumold, Bishop of Dublin, returning from a visit to the tombs of the Apostles, interrupted his journey at Malines, in Belgium. During his stay he preached with much fruit in that city and its neighborhood, and was eventually assassinated by a man whose notorious crimes he had not hesitated, in the interests of morality, to severely stigmatise. St. Eugene 111., Pope and Confessor. St. Eugene was a native of Pisa, and a member of the Cistercian Order. Besides diligently discharging the duties of the Pontifical Office, he was a liberal patron of letters, and spared no expense in renovating and beautifying the churches of Rome, mindful of the Psalmist's words, 'Lord, I have loved the beauty of Thy house, and the place where Thy glory dwelleth.' After a pontificate of eight years, St. Eugene died in 1153. 5

GRAINS OF GOLD 'HOLD MY HAND.' Last night I was wakened—a little cry Came up from the crib which stood quite nigh ; 'Twas followed by pitiful words of fright, And a baby voice came through the night: ' 0 father, hold my hand!'

With tender love, I stretched my arm To shield my darling from any harm The dreams had summoned her rest to pain. But still these words rang in my brain: O father, hold my hand!’

And soon she was sleeping in perfect rest, With my hand held close to her baby breast : And I thought of the faith of a little child— Of the call in the night when dreams were wild : ‘ O father, hold my hand!’

Then I prayed that I might be e’en As she, When the end of life should come to me Prayed for that faith in a Father’s love, Which would cry to the Infinite One above: O Father, hold my hand

— Ave Maria.

If you wish to be miserable you must think about yourself, about what you want, what you like, what respect people ought to pay to you, and what people think of you.