On Monday, in a stable I see Jesus so amicable Whom His Mother has borne in poverty so morne.
	On Tuesday, to the temple I go to contemplate Him lovingly; so heart to heart, He unites us & o'er the doctors is victorious.
On Wednesday, I then recall His tears and His fasting all, that in a desert made Him vanquish hell and sin.
	On Thursday, to the Apostles He gave Himself -- not to others their feet He did gently lave; give me humility, Lord, I pray.
On Friday, how I yearn for His Passion and death so stern; to love You, I take up Your Cross at which I hear Your sweet voice.
	On Saturday, at the sepulchre I see this beautiful Lustre completely pallid and discolored while His Mother mourns in sorrow.
On Sunday, superbly glorious, He is eminently victorious O'er His enemies so false who had placed Him on the Cross.