July 23
If you were toiling up a weary hill,
Bearing a load beyond your strength to bear.
Straining each nerve untiringly and still
Stumbling and losing foothold here and there
And each one passing by would do so much
As give one upward lift and go his way,
Would not the slight reiterated touch
Of help and kindness lighten all the day?
If you were breasting a keen wind which tossed
And buffeted and chilled you as you strove,
Till baffled and bewildered quite, you lost
The power to see the way, and aim and move,
And one, if only for a moment's space,
Gave you a shelter from the bitter blast,
Would you not find it easier to face
The storm again when the brief rest was past?
Susan Coolidge.
Our Father, as we thank Thee for the friendly service and sympathy that bless and strengthen our daily lives, we pray that our gratitude may move us to give a like service and sympathy as freely as we receive. In the day to whose beginning Thou hast brought us, let our hearts and hands be ready to meet the needs of those with whom we come in touch. So influence our wayward wills that we shall not walk in selfish ways, nor forget the ties that bind us to one another, and to Thee. Keep us conscious of our birthright as Thy children, that our acts and aims may be filial and fraternal and loyal to Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen.
July 24
It matters little where I was born,
Whether my parents were rich or poor,
Whether they shrank from the cold world's scorn
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure;
But whether I live an honest man,
And hold my integrity firm in my clutch,
I tell you brother, plain as I am,
It matters much.
From the Swedish.
Dear Father in Heaven, good Giver of all,
For birth in a land fair and free,
For parents with pluck, if not the best luck,
Who toiled and who suffered for me.
Who never knew fear, though the scorners were near,
Whom circumstance filled not with pride,
I thank Thee! These gifts, more than all on the lists,
Have mattered with me, and abide.
While striving and struggling my manhood to build,
To live like Thine own perfect Son,
I find on Earth's face not just one single place
Where such work so well can be done
As in the fair land which from Thy gracious hand
Comes to me a home to enjoy,
Where man, who should grow, may all liberty know
In seeking the soul's high employ.
Amen.
Frederick C. Priest.