Who is the worker, the worker of wonder,
Abroad in the blue and gold of the morn?
The heart o' me whispers that over and under
Each moment are rapture and ecstasy born.

There's a glint in the rain that goes sweeping and striding

The levels and crests, and it lilts as it goes;

There's a hint in the blossoms half peering, half hiding, Of the tint that shall flush on the leaf of the rose.

But yesterday all earth seemed barren and sterile;
And, save for the wind, Nature's voices were mute ;
Now every wide slope waves in undulant beryl,
And forest and rill have the lips of a flute!

Who is the worker, the worker of wonder,

The touch of whose hand has enkindled the sod, Brought life out of death, cleft the silence asunder? The spirit of spring, yea, the spirit of God!

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

Unto Thee, O Father, whose only passion is Love, would we link ourselves in closeness so near until the transfusion of Thy very life both makes us beloved and to love like Thyself. That through this life, in all the hours of this new day, the charming loveliness of Thy perfect nature may freely play upon the hearts of our fellow-men, lightening the dark, cheering the sad, and strengthening the weak. Then will the evening bring us joy and rest. Amen. WARREN I. BOWMAN.

There really isn't so much that's bad,

There's a lot of good in the old world yet;
There are people still trying to make us glad,
There are hearts still beating that don't forget.
There's far more good than we really think,

And the quiet good that we know not of·
Ah, the old world's better because it lives
A little bit nearer the heart of love!

Lots of goodness in life, ah, yes,
And plenty of sweetness going on
In the kindly actions of hearts that live
To bring unto drearier hearts the dawn.
Lots of goodness, and not so much
Of the really bad, if you only see

How much more people would rather be good
Than anything else they've tried to be.

FOLGER MCKINSEY.

Most gracious God, may our faith in our race be strengthened, as we touch the fragrant lives of the men and women who are living very near to the Christ. We rejoice that like flowers growing unseen, but making fragrant the air, their quiet ministries abound. Help us ever to remember the supreme unselfishness of our Lord Jesus, His neverfailing hand to help, His self-forgetful yearning to do good unto all men. We shall count it joy indeed if by Thy grace we may help to sweeten the lives around us. Amen.

JAMES NEWELL GRACE.

A good-by kiss is a little thing,
With your hand on the door to go,
But it takes the venom out of the sting
Of a thoughtless word or a cruel fling
That you made an hour ago.

'Tis a little thing to say "You are kind;
I love you, my dear," each night,
But it sends a thrill through the heart, I find -
For love is tender, as love is blind -
As we climb life's rugged height.

We starve each other for love's caress,
We take, but we do not give;

It seems so easy some soul to bless,

But we dole the love grudgingly less and less,
Till 'tis bitter and hard to live.

ANONYMOUS.

Gracious Father, grant us a more realizing sense of Thy ever-presence and constant help. Enable us to see that Thou dost appeal to our eyes as beauty, to our ears as music, to our minds as truth, and to our hearts as love. So when nature is beautiful, and fellowmen are dear, as we walk with comrades, clasping friendly hands and looking into loving. faces, may we know then that Thou art very close, indeed that Thou art dwelling in us, for "Where Love is, there God is also." Amen.

RALPH E. CONNER.

There was once a pendulum waiting to be fixed on a new clock. It began to calculate how long it would be before the big wheels were worn out and its work was done. It would be expected to tick night and day, so many times a minute, sixty times that every hour, and twenty-four times that every day, and three hundred and sixty-five times that every year. It was awful! Quite a row of figures, enough to stagger you! Millions of ticks! "I can never do it," said the poor pendulum. But the clockmaker encouraged it. "You can do one tick at a time?" he said. "Oh, yes," the pendulum could do that. "Well," he said, "that is all which will be required of you." So the pendulum went to work, steadily ticking, one tick at a time, and it is ticking yet, quite cheerfully.

D. L. MOODY.

Our Father, save us from the weariness of toil. Help us not to exaggerate the weight of the load. May we not overburden the moments by an attempt to crowd into them the duties of the hours. Take from us every thought that cheapens and soils. Give us a vision of the glory hidden in the commonplace. Help us to see Thee in the common road, the road of toil and of sorrow and of sacrifice. Help us to seize the moments of this bright new day for gladsome willing service. Amen.

WILLIS E. RIDGEWAY.

We find our quest.

If thou art hungry, lacking heavenly food,
Give hope and cheer.

If thou art sad, and wouldst be comforted,
Stay sorrow's tear.

Whatever be thy longing or thy need,

That do thou give;

So shall thy soul be fed, and thou, indeed,

Shall truly live.

M. M. PAINTER.

Dear Heavenly Father, impartiality of Thy love. secret of our Master's

help us to understand the Help us to understand the confidence. Make us seedsowers of Thy spirit. Send us forth at the dawn with the vision of the heart's great harvest in our souls. May we ask nothing, seek nothing, desire nothing except the joy of ministering to human need. Reveal to us the symbol of Thy creation, where seed and soil, sun, wind and rain conspire to make the earth fit habitation for Thy children. Send us on our way singing. When we come unto our rest, may the fadeless memory of the faces which have smiled back to us along the way, bring the benediction of Thy perfect peace. Amen.

F. W. BETTS.