Our Father, Author alike of the morning light and Guardian through the darkness and shadow of the night, grant us the right spirit as we go forth to the unknown experiences of this day. We would not look eagerly for our own comfort and happiness, but would find them as Thy free gift while we are employed in giving comfort and happiness to others. Illuminate our lives with happy thoughts, cheerful words and blessed hopes, that we may go forth with no purpose but to do Thy will, and seeking no reward more glorious, than Thine approval whispered into loving and attentive hearts, in Thy name. Amen. LEWIS G. WILSON. June 27 _A Persian fable says: "One day A wanderer found a lump of clay, So redolent of sweet perfume Its odors scented all the room. "What art thou?" was his quick demand; "Art thou some gem from Samarcand, Or spikenard in this rude disguise, Or other costly merchandise?" "Nay, I am but a lump of clay." "Then whence this wondrous perfume--say?" "Friend, if the secret I disclose, I have been dwelling with the rose," Sweet parable! and will not those Who love to dwell with Sharon's Rose, Distil sweet odors all around, Though low and mean themselves are found? Dear Lord, abide with us, that we May draw our perfume fresh from thee._ ANONYMOUS. Our Father, which art in heaven,--we thank Thee for the memory of those who lived in Thy spirit and labored in Thy love. The fragrance of their lives abides with us. We thank Thee for the prophets of great hopes,--for those who have seen the invisible, and have searched patiently for the city of their God. We bless those who by their pure hearts and unselfish lives have revealed unto us our greater selves. Help us to learn of them the way of life. Help us to live in such thoughts and deeds as made them truly great. Keep our hearts so pure to-day, our vision of the Master life so clear, that our path, before and after us, shall be as the light of day. Amen. FREDERICK W. BETTS. June 28 _Tell you what I like the best; 'Long about knee-deep in June, 'Bout the time the strawberries melts On the vine,--some afternoon Like to jes' git out and rest, And not work at nothing else._ _Orchard's where I'd ruther be-- Needn't fence it in for me! Jes' the whole sky overhead, And the whole airth underneath._ JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.