Ah, our hearts were weary Waiting for the light, For the frosts to vanish With their bitter blight: See, the earth’s brown bosom Heaves, where zephyrs play; See, she thrills and answers To the touch of May. May, all fresh and smiling, Sweet--from heaven above; May, our souls beguiling With her dreams of love: Violet-eyed and fragrant-- How our pulses play ’Neath the virgin beauty Of the radiant May. Lift your hearts up: floating Through the gold and blue Where the liquid sunlight Streams and filters through, There a Lady, smiling, Stands ’mid cloudless day-- Snow-white Virgin-Mother, Dazzling Queen of May. --MARY ANTONIA, SISTER OF MERCY. THE PRECIOUS BLOOD OF JESUS O Precious Blood of Jesus, Shed for me, Upon the cruel cross of Calvary: Each drop of blood so precious, And the pain, A sacrifice was offered Not in vain. O Precious Blood of Jesus, May I feel The fire of love for Christ, and Holy zeal! O Precious Blood of Jesus, Cleansing, pure! Inflame my soul with ardor To endure. --HENRY COYLE. THE SPANISH COOK peasant zealous summit intervals chef caprice recovery porridge plaza vespers procession accident Pilar was a young peasant woman. I do not know from what village she came, somewhere in the neighborhood of Malaga. She was paid three dollars a month, and she “found” herself. A man cook in that happy land gets five dollars a month, but times were bad, and my friends had for three years to content themselves with a woman cook. She cooked well, though, and cheerfully, and she prepared more meals in the twenty-four hours than any other cook I ever heard of. She seemed to have identified herself thoroughly with the family, and to work with a zealous love for them all. There was, however, one of the many children for whom she had a special affection, a very delicate little maiden of two and a half. During the autumn this child had been desperately ill. The doctors gave no hope. Pilar in anguish prayed for her recovery, and promised the Bestower of life that if He would spare little Anita, she would, before the end of Holy Week, carry to the shrine on the top of the “Calvary” outside the town, one pound of olive oil to be burned in His honor. She promised a great many prayers besides, which she managed to get said, in the intervals of her frying and stewing and boiling.