Our Father, as we enter upon the duties of this new day, incline our minds and hearts unto Thee. May we feel, amid its harsh noises, the assurance of Thy love and care. If doubt or fear assail us may we turn unto Thee who art the source of life, love and light, and find calm and peace. We would forget the things behind and make the most of the present. We rejoice that today is better than yesterday and that tomorrow will be better than today. Thou art here now, as Thou art everywhere always, to bless us with Thy love and care. Direct us through the hours of this day and may its close find us better children of Thine. Amen. JOHN B. REARDON. May 18 _The sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for the wide world's joy. The lonely pine of the mountain top waves its sombre boughs, and cries, "Thou art my sun!" And the little meadow violet lifts its cup of blue, and whispers with its perfumed breath, "Thou art my sun!" And the grain in a thousand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, "Thou art my sun!" So God sits, effulgent, in heaven, not for a favored few, but for the universe of life; and there is no creature so poor or so low that he may not look up with child-like confidence, and say, "My Father, Thou art mine!"_ HENRY WARD BEECHER. O God, the Eternal Source of all life, we rejoice that there are no bounds to Thy love. We thank Thee that Thou givest us all things richly to enjoy. May we learn that Thy bounties are for all human beings. Make the hearts of men eager that the ignorant, the lowly, the poor, the wayward, may come into the full estate of knowing that they are children of God. Let them in no way be denied the joy of unfolding the divinity within them. Lead us all into those fields of labor where we can be our best selves and develop our lives by what we do to meet the growing demands of truth and love and goodness. Wherever the morning breaks and the sunshine falls upon human faces, may its cheer make homes happy and true, men and women good, and little children joyous. Amen. ALVA ROY SCOTT. May 19 _Hear the Master's risen word! Delving spades have set it free, Wake! the world has need of thee, Rise and let thy voice be heard, Like a fountain disinterred, Upward springing, singing, sparkling; Through the doubtful shadows darkling; Till the clouds of pain and rage Brooding o'er the toiling age, As with rifts of light are stirred By the music of the Word; Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the labourer's cry; "Raise the stone, and thou shalt find Me: cleave the wood, and there am I."_ HENRY VAN DYKE.