Friends at Court

New Zealand Tablet, 16 April 1914, Page 3

Friends at Court

GLEANINGS FOR NEXT WEEK’S CALENDAR April 19, Sunday.— Sunday. ~ 20, Monday.—Of the Feria. ~ 21, Tuesday.St. Anselm, Bishop, Confessor, and Doctor. ~ 22, Wednesday.—St. Soter and St. Caius, Popes and Martyrs. ~ 23, Thursday.— George, Martyr. ~ 24, Friday.— Fidelis of Sigmaring, Martyr. ~ 25, Saturday .-‘—St. Mark, Evangelist. Low Sunday. This Sunday is styled in liturgical language Dominica in Albis, or Sunday in White, because in olden times the neophytes, whom it was customary to baptise on Holy Saturday, wore their white robes for the last time to-day. St. Anselm, Bishop, Confessor, and Doctor. St. Anselm was a native of Aosta, in Piedmont. At the age of 27 he became a member of the Benedictine Order at the Abbey of Bee, in Normandy. In 1093 he was consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury, a dignity which he held for sixteen years. A considerable portion of this time was spent by St. Anselm in exile in consequence of his refusal to submit to the intolerable pretensions of the English Kings, William Rufus and Henry I. As a profound thinker, St. Anselm holds a prominent position among the Doctors of the Church. Saints Soter and Caius, Popes and Martyrs. We know very little of these two Pontiffs except the manner of their deaths. St. Soter won the crown of martyrdom in 177; St. Caius, after many sufferings for the faith, died in 296, in the reign of Diocletian, whose kinsman he was. St, George, Martyr. St. George has been recognised as patron of England since the time of the Crusades. Unfortunately, no authentic details of his life have come down Jo us. He is believed to have been a soldier, and to have suffered martyrdom about 303. In emblem of the victory he thus gained over the Evil One, he is often •represented in pictures as a knight tilting against a GRAINS OP GOLD. IN VITAM AETERNAM. Oh, why should I affrighted be For that the winter snow p Begins to lie full heavily On all the friends I know? Begins to lie full heavily On locks of brown and gold; Oh, why should I affrighted be That we are growing old 1 Age is of earth, and whitened head, And limbs that feeble be, Conduct us to the holy dead, Who wait the mystery Of life and love that shall not know Earth’s sad remembering, Not far beneath the winter’s snow Lies our eternal spring Truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing to help it out. It is always near at hand, sits upon our lips, and is ready to drop out before we are aware; a lie is troublesome and sets a man’s invention, upon the rack, and one trick needs a great many more to make it good. .V :,