_Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all: to thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man._ SHAKESPEARE. Almighty God, at the commencement of this day's work may we look on high, and measure everything we are about to do by the scale of eternity. Keep us from all littleness; may we not be turned aside by things that are insignificant and unworthy. Help us, we beseech Thee, to make the glory of our life commensurate with the splendors of our privileges. May we live life in a great spirit, realizing that there is no duty so simple, no position so humble, but that we may show forth the grandeur of trust, and obedience toward Thee. May the great and holy purpose we cherish find its expression as we cooperate with the divine purpose. Amen. J. H. BARKER. April 15 _'Twas one of those charmed days When the genius of God doth flow, The wind may alter twenty ways, A tempest cannot blow; It may blow north, it still is warm; Or south, it still is clear; Or east, it smells like a clover farm; Or west, no thunder fear._ RALPH WALDO EMERSON. Father of Lights, from whom cometh every good and perfect gift, we thank Thee for the morning and for the sunshine. We rejoice in the light, but when it is hidden from us, we are thankful that in the upper air above our clouded morning it still fills Thy heavens. Thou gavest us good things while we slept, and now, refreshed by Thy Spirit, may we go forth to our appointed tasks with cheerful obedience and joyful expectation. If trial and trouble await us, or if, in the heat of the day the burden seems too great, may we still be comforted, because we put our trust in Thee. Amen. GEORGE BATCHELOR. April 16 _But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes Over its breast, to waken it, rare verdure Buds tenderly upon rough banks between The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost, Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face; The grass grows bright, the boughs are swol'n with blooms Like chrysalids impatient for the air, The shining dors are busy, beetles run Along the furrows; ants make their ado; Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark Soars up and up, shivering for very joy; Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing gulls Flit where the sand is purple with its tribe Of nested limpits; savage creatures seek Their loves in wood and plain--and God renews His ancient rapture._ ROBERT BROWNING.