This is the song the Brown Thrush flings Mark how it closes: Luck, luck, What luck? Good enough for me, I'm alive, you see! Sun shining, No repining; Idle sorrow; Cover it up! Joy will fill it, Don't spill it, Steady, be ready, Good luck! HENRY VAN DYKE. Heavenly Father, with Thy help we will begin the day with a song. It may be that we shall meet sorrow and trouble on the road to-day, but we know that Thy unfailing love is with us, and that Thou wilt give us strength. Bless us and keep us from worry to-day. Amen. FLORENCE N. SAWTELLE. Last eve I paused beside a blacksmith's door, Old hammers worn with beating years of time. "How many anvils have you had," said I, 66 "To wear and batter all these hammers so?" Just one," said he; then said, with twinkling eye, The anvil wears the hammers out, you know." 66 And so, I thought, the anvil of God's Word With cheerful hearts and singing lips we greet the new day and its duties, our Father. To-day we shall meet many men and women upon the highway and in the office and the shop. Some will complain of the day's clouds, some will speak slightingly of Thy works and reproachfully of Thy truth. But for our own part, our Father, we will strive to see the sun behind the clouds, Thy power in and through Thy works, and Thy truth invincible and eternal. More and more.may the white light of Thy truth pour down upon us. More and more may we seek to find the truth, not what men have said about it, but the truth itself. Speak to us to-day and reveal to us a new measure of truth and love. Amen. A. EUGENE BARTLETT. Let all your matchless beauty thrill Slower! sweet June, She does not stop to say good-by, But toward the north or toward the south ANONYMOUS. For the songs of the birds, for the rich profusion of flowers, for the luxuriant green.of the trees, for the busy hum of the bees among the blossoms, for the beauty of the floating clouds and all the joys of the June days, we thank Thee, O our Father, and pray that the memory of them may survive through all the icy days of winter. Amen. GEORGE L. PERIN. Every little blade of grass Says "Good-Morning" when we pass; "Tis a rare" or "Rainy day"; Every rose on every bush, Be it Brier, Moss, or Blush, Would we only list and hear Foolish words like "Want" and "Woe"; I and thou in tranquil ways Might employ the nights and days; Nature loveth to confer Peace on him who heedeth her. ROBERT LOVEMAN. Father, for the break of day and the radiant glories of the sun do we give Thee grateful thanks. Give us the open vision to discern the truth Thou wouldst have us learn from fragrant flower and gurgling stream. Give us to hear Thy message of love and care in the sweet song of the robin or even the chirp of the homely sparrow. Even though immersed in material things, grant us to know the sky is blue, that flowers bloom and the meadows are green, bearing eloquent testimony to Thy neverfailing love. Keep us, even as Thou dost keep the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field, and help us to serve Thee as faithfully in our higher sphere as they serve Thee in the lower. Amen. W. H. STUBBLEBINE. Of the thoughts he could not speak Of the glory of the sunbeams And the light up on the peak; MABEL G. INGLIS. Dear Father of Lights, we bless Thee for the joy that cometh from Thee with the morning light. We sing and make melody in our hearts unto Thee. Fulfil the promise of the day we beseech Thee. Help us cheerfully to think and blithely to do Thy will. Teach us how to spread the light of Thy Truth among those whose mornings are dark and whose days are clouded. Make us happy in Thy service. Let Thy light not fade from our lives nor Thy joy from our hearts. Amen. HARRY C. MESERVE. |