If you stand beside a quiet pool, and drop a stone into it, the stone sinks down to the bottom and lies there; but from the spot where its fall broke the calm surface, ring after ring ripples the water. Just so a single word dropped from the lips of a child into the ocean of air is carried on, wave after wave; so that, as a great philosopher once said, "the air is one vast library, on whose pages is for ever written all that man has ever said or even whispered." [Illustration: THE "ECHO WOOD"] There is a poem which you may know, that begins with this line-- "Kind words can never die." This is quite true; but we might alter the first part of it a little, and say, "No word can ever die." Not only the soft, loving words, but the rough, angry ones, which we may well wish we had never spoken, all live in this "vast library," and tell their own story. How much it ought to make us think about our words, to know they can never be lost! THE RED, RED SKY. "In the early, early morning, beyond the islands green, Beyond the pines and palm trees, and the purple sea between, Like the glow through a crimson window the morning rises slow, And the isles lie dun in the glory, and the sea is all aglow. "In the dim and misty evening the purple mountains stand, And the glooms that hush the woodlands lie over all the land, And high in dark blue heavens the red light bums and glows. Like the Jasper of God's city, like the deep heart of the rose. "Oh, why does morning dawn, and why ends the golden day, With the crimson glow and glory, while the children kneel and pray? Is it thus that God would tell me before the day begins Of the morn of the Day of pardon, the Blood that has washed my sins? "The morn of the day of gladness, the day of His love and grace, When like the sun in his glory, the Lord unveiled His face, And His love shone forth in beauty where all was dark before, For the Blood had been shed which saved me, once and for evermore. "Is it thus that God would tell me the evening draweth nigh, When we pass beyond the mountains, beyond the purple sky? And then, in God's great glory, the golden gates I see, And sing, 'The Blood of Jesus has opened them for me!'" FRANCES BEVAN Taken, by permission, from _Hymns by Ter Steegen and Others_. Second series. THE THIRD DAY. THE WORLD OF WATER. "_The sea is His, and He made it._"--PSALM xcv. 5. "_Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand?_"--ISAIAH xl. 12. "_Who layeth the beams of His chambers in the waters._"--PSALM civ. 3. "_He hath compassed the waters with bounds._"--JOB xxvi. 10. We have been learning something about the wonderful world of air, in which we live and move about. To-day we shall think a little of that vast world of water which is the home of so many of God's creatures. I daresay you know a pretty song about the ocean, beginning in this way (it is meant to be sung by a sailor):