Friends at Court

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XLIX, Issue 27, 6 July 1922, Page 3

Friends at Court

GLEANINGS FOR NEXT WEEK'S CALENDAR. July 9, Sunday.—Fifth Sunday after Pentecost. „ 10, Monday.—Seven Brothers, Martyrs. „ 11, Tuesday.— Oliver Plunket, Bishop and Martyr. „ 12, Wednesday.—St. John Gualbert, Abbot. „ 13, Thursday.—St. Anacletus, Pope and Martyr. ~ 14, Friday.—St. Bonaventure, Bishop, Confessor, and Doctor. „ 15, Saturday.—St. Henry, Emperor and Confessor. THE SEVEN BROTHERS, MARTYRS. The seven saints whose glorious death is commemorated to-day were sons of St. Felicitas, and suffered at Rome about the middle of the second century. They were exhorted to constancy in suffering by their heroic mother, who herself soon after received the crown of martyrdom. ST. JOHN GUALBERT, ABBOT. St. John was born at Florence of noble parents in 999. Like many of the class to which he belonged, he grew up imbued with a pride which would neither brook opposition nor allow any injury to pass unavenged. Having, however, on one occasion, in obedience to the promptings of Divine Grace, forgiven a defenceless enemy, this exercise of Christian charity proved the beginning of his complete conversion. He entered a Benedictine monastery, and afterwards founded the famous abbey and Order of • Vallombrosa. He died in 1073. ST. ANACLETUS, POPE AND MARTYR. St. Anacletus, the second successor of St. Peter, was martyred under Trajan about the beginning of the second century. Grains of Gold HE MADE US FREE. As flame streams upward, so my longing thought Flies up with Thee, Thou God and Saviour, Who has truly wrought Life out of death, and to us, loving, brought A fresh new world; and in Thy sweet chains caught And made us free ! As hyacinths make way from out the dark, My soul awakes,, At thought of Thee, like sap beneath the bark; As the violets in field and park Rise to the thrilling thrush and meadow-lark, New hope it takes. . As Thou goest upwards through the nameless space We call the sky, Like jonquil perfume softly falls Thy grace; It seems to touch and brighten every place, Fresh flowers crown our wan and weary race, 0 Thou on high! Hadst Thou not risen, there would be no joy Upon earth's sod Life would be still with us a wound or toy, A cloud without the suno Babe, 0 Boy, 0 Man of Mother pure, with no alloy, 0 risen God! Thou, God and King, didst "mingle in the game" (Cease, all fears; cease!) For love of —not to give Virgil's fame Or Croesus' wealth, not to make well the lame, Or save the sinner from deserved shame, But for sweet Peace I • For peace, for joy—not that the slave might lie In luxury, Not that all woe from us should always fly, Or golden crops with Syrian roses vie .In every field; but in Thy peace to die ';; And —be free! —Maurice Francis Egan.