O Father, God! The span of our influence is both near and far; may it also be direct and strong. Thou hast planted mighty virtue and unquenchable love in our hearts. Love knows the secret of imparting virtue's value to all the wretchedness in life. So, we beseech Thee, direct our hearts to altitudes of holiness and set our feet in the highways of helpfulness. May the charm of gentleness be in every service to-day, and may the tone of tenderness carry love's message over all barriers to the hearts that need. Thus would we keep our confidence with Thee and bind ourselves more profitably to our fellows. So shall Thy great name be honored among men. Amen. J. O. RANDALL. July 15 _What seems to grow fairer to me as life goes by, is the love and peace and tenderness of it. Not its wit and cleverness and grandeur of knowledge, but just the laughter of little children, and the friendship of friends, and the cosy talk of the fireside, and the sight of flowers and the sound of music._ J. R. GREEN. Now that Thou givest us the light of a new day, grant that it carry with it the brightness of hope and courage for whatsoever the day may offer. Always behind the clouds is the shining that never fails; always beyond the labor which irks us is the joy of attainment. Open our eyes that we may see the best which shall be in the day; its love of friends, its sights of beauty, its music, its wisdom such as no day before could possess, its voices of the Spirit awaiting the listening ear, its tears of compassion and sympathy. Give us our daily bread such as shall feed the heart and enrich the mind and grant us forgiveness when we are blind to the common treasures of this Thy world. Amen. GEORGE A. THAYER. July 16 _Methought that in a solemn church I stood. Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet, Lay spread from door to door, from street to street. Midway the form hung high upon the rood Of Him who gave His life to be our good; Beyond, priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet Among the candles shining still and sweet. Men came and went, and worshipped as they could; And still their dust a woman with her broom, Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door. Then saw I slow through all the pillared gloom Across the church a silent figure come. "Daughter," it said, "Thou sweepest well my floor!" "It is the Lord!" I cried, and saw no more._ GEORGE MACDONALD.