We are familiar with the echo of life’s unfinished songs. The unfinished songs of confidence, sung by the martyrs as they stood upon the yellow sands of the Coliseum, looking upward beyond the soft blue of the Italian sky to heights hitherto unseen, have never ceased to vibrate through the centuries. The unfinished songs of sacrifice and patriotism which were sung by our soldiers and sailors who perished in the world-wide war are still echoing in the music of every wave that laves the shores of every sea. We are all familiar with the lingering music of life’s unfinished songs, but it is well for us to consider also the echo of the songs that have never found expression in word or tune. Each soul is a minstrel whether he wills it or no, for God has fashioned a harp for every heart. There is a tradition that above the head of David’s couch there hung his favorite harp. The mountain winds coming through the midnight silence would stir its strings, awaken the sleeping lover of song, and bid him weave words of love to fit the wind-wrought music. Thus were the Psalms created. To each individual God has intrusted a priceless harp, tight drawn with silver chords of love, and sensitive to every touch of passing wind and falling sunbeam. So delicate are these heart-strings that every event of life awakens the dormant music and fills the soul with harmonies divine. Behold how sensitive they are. The day has been dull and gloomy and you have not cared to go abroad. After a while you become reminiscent. As though led by an unseen hand you enter a quiet, unused room and lift the lid of a quaint, old-fashioned chest. You know not why your followed impulses led you there, but you are glad that you obeyed the leading, for there, resting quietly amid fragrant lavender, is a treasured gift that came from a mother’s hand. It has been lying there for many years, untouched and unseen, but how beautiful its faded colors, how lovely its wrinkled folds placed there by the hands so long since turned to dust! and how, out of the dim mists of the past, it brings the soft colors and clear outlines of a dear, sweet face! There are tears in your eyes, but more and better than that, there is music in your soul. Every string of your heart is vibrant with melody. One morning you were ill and did not care to go to the office. You were indisposed just enough to enjoy the rich luxury of being waited upon, when, suddenly and unexpectedly, your eyes rested upon an old-fashioned picture that strangely and wondrously stirred your heart. For years it had been hanging there with its treasured memories, but you had been too busy to notice it. How charming its exquisite beauty as it greeted you from out its odd, old-styled frame. Its colors, mellowed with the passing years, carried you back triumphantly to the sun-bright days of the long ago, and the soul was stirred with music that charmed, and soothed, and inspired.