St. Winfrid, Life of, 713 Thalia, 718 The Christian Reformed, 715 The Four Seasons, 288 The Nabob, 140 The Notary’s Daughter, 717 The Precious Pearl, 718 The Young Catholic, 860 Thirty-nine Sermons, 288 Total Abstinence, 719 To the Sun, 287 Vacation Days, 716 Vatican Library, The, 143 Voyage of the Paper Canoe, 714 Way of the Cross, 144 Wrecked and Saved, 719 Young Girl’s Month of May, 288 THE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XXVII., No. 157.—APRIL, 1878. A SOUL’S HOLY WEEK. PALM SUNDAY. What shall I spread beneath thy feet, dear Lord, Meek Son of David drawing near to-day With wide hearts’ worship for thy king’s array, With love’s full measure for thy blessing poured? How shall my weakness its deep longing prove? Not mine the martyr’s fadeless branch of palm, Nor mine the priestly olive giving balm, For hearts’ consoling, healing wounds with love. Alas! not mine baptismal robe unstained To offer thee with pure and child-like trust: Dark are its folds with clinging wayside dust. Yet even this poor raiment, world-profaned, Thou wilt not scorn, since veils it heart contrite Grieving so sore its trespass in thy sight. MONDAY. Rabbi, one little moment only, wait Till I kneel down and wet with tears of shame Thy blessed feet, thy garment’s sacred hem— O thou so long unheeded, loved so late! Let me pour forth the ointment of my soul, The precious store wherewith thou fill’st my vase, My love’s devotion and my sorrow’s grace; Withholding naught from thee that givest all. The more I give the richer grows my share, Since unto thee one cannot give and lose. Thou givest e’er; we but thy gifts diffuse. Worthless all gold unless thy stamp it bear. Worthless my tears unless their source be thee: What gem shall, then, outshine their purity? TUESDAY. I dare not wish that my life’s days had been When thou, O Christ! didst come in human guise As seeming weak as poorest child that lies On mother’s breast in infant sleep serene; When thou the Father’s wisdom unto men Didst speak with lips of little more than child; Didst preach the kingdom of the undefiled; Didst pardon sin and pity human pain. I know thee now, although I have not seen. Perchance in those old days I had denied, With Bethlehem’s matrons turned my face aside, Spurned from my threshold heaven’s chosen Queen, And—O dread thought!—my God a mockery made, Even as Judas with a kiss betrayed! WEDNESDAY.