Justin M'Carthy born 1830. Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, My garden makes a desert spot, Sometimes a blight upon the tree Takes all my fruit away from me; And then with throes of bitter pain Rebellious passions rise and swell; And so I sing and all is well. --Paul Laurence Dunbar. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like benediction That follows after prayer. --Henry W. Longfellow. Songs consecrate to truth and liberty. --Percy Bysshe Shelley. David took the harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him. --1 Samuel 16. 23. Almighty God, I thank thee that thou wilt come to me as my heart cries for need. I bless thee that thou dost come to me as my lips sing thy praise. I pray that I may be saved from a cruel and cheerless heart, and be a sharer of the songs that are sung to the soul. Amen. NOVEMBER TWENTY-THIRD Thomas Tallis died 1585. Franklin Pierce, New Hampshire, fourteenth President United States, born 1804. Marie Bashkirtseff born 1860. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No word can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny. The stars come nightly to the sky, The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me. --John Burroughs. If a man could make a single rose we would give him an empire; yet flowers no less beautiful are scattered in profusion over the world, and no one regards them. --Martin Luther. Let patience have its perfect work. --James 1. 4. My Creator, may I remember that after thou didst create the earth thou didst say it was good. May I love the fragrance and beauty of the flowers which were made to nourish the soul, and the fruits and herbs which were made to nourish the body. May my song of thanksgiving be new every morning, as I awake in the abundance of what thou hast prepared. Amen. NOVEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH John Knox died 1572. Baron Spinoza born 1632. Grace Darling born 1815. Frances Hodgson Burnett born 1849. I waited long until the sky Should give me of its blue To weave and wear, and share, and weave The very stars into. The days they went, the years they went, And left my hands instead Another thing for wonderment, The mending and the bread. Ah me, and one must set a hand To burnish up the task, And hush and hush the old demand A wakeful heart will ask. But with a star's clear eye on me, O, I can hear it said, "What souls there be that only see The mending and the bread!" --Josephine P. Peabody. The riches of a commonwealth Are free, strong minds and hearts of health. And more to her than gold or grain, The cunning hand and cultured brain.