On the summit of Calvary, stretched upon the rough Cross, with His arms extended along the cross-pieces which are to form the horizontal part of it, lies the Son of God, already wounded, covered with blood, exhausted by suffering and by His repeated falls upon the way. Surely the executioners will be satisfied with the ordinary method of tying His arms to the Cross, and leaving Him thus to die. No; for the innocent, spotless Lamb of God, new tortures are in store. Huge nails are placed in the centre of His Hands, and, with cruel strokes of a heavy mallet, driven through His delicate, sensitive palms. The blows are struck; the Precious Blood gushes forth, and Jesus moans under the exquisite pain which thrills through every nerve.

O Jesus! How can we bear to see Thee thus wounded! Those Hands were ever stretched forth to do good to all, to heal sorrows, and cure diseases. They never did aught but good. How then can cruel men be so ungrateful, so barbarous, so impious as to requite Thee thus? O, may I learn to sorrow with Thy anguish, and, like Thy most Holy Mother, to join my compassion to Thy Passion.

Yet sad and strange to say my actions correspond but ill to the expressions of my sorrow. It is for the sins committed by my stretched-out hands that Thou are suffering; for my selfishness, unkindness, immodesty, anger, covetousness. How shall I compensate Thee for my share in this cruelty? O, show me how, and help me to do so.