Hartley Coleridge.
Ever blessed Father, in Whose pleasant world we are glad to awake again, looking forward to a happy and useful day, we beseech Thy loving guidance through these hours. May we look abroad with gratitude and love upon this beautiful earth, doubly beautiful in the waning summer time, when a new splendor comes across the hills, and Thou dost reveal Thyself, as of old, in the burning bush. Grant that we may look through nature up to nature's God. Grant that the mists of doubt and uncertainty which often hide Thee from us may be dispersed in the sunlight of a happy faith, and that the heart, so often sad and silent, may once more lift its cheerful song to Thee. Amen.
August 31
No rare creative inspirations throng
My quiet spirit, silent, sad and lone;
No Sapphic flame hath on its altar shone;
No music to my nature doth belong.
Thou art the sunlight, I am Memnon's stone,
Thou art the zephyr, I give back its song;
The harp Æolian can do no wrong
To the soft airs which wake an answering tone:
Upon my soul, Oh, then breathe tenderly;
Subdue the discord, still the jarring strain;
So may the harp-strings yield but melody.
If notes discordant give thy keen ear pain,
Set the fine chords again to harmony;
Let but sweet echoes of thyself remain.
Ada Foster Murray.
O Thou Who art the source of all that is and the giver of all that makes life blessed, we thank Thee that Thy providence abides through every change and that Thou dost cheer the loneliest lot with the comfort of Thy presence. Thou hast been with us in times past and now on this last day of the summer months, we would thank Thee for the blessings of the closing season and ask for the continuance of Thy unfailing care and the enrichment of our souls with the gifts of Thy Spirit. Bring us into harmony with all that is pure and good, and enable us to walk in the light of Thy favor and in the paths of Thy commandments. Amen.
September 1
'Neath harvest moon the stricken summer lies
Still smiling bravely in her brightest bloom,
Her heart yet holds no hint of gloom,
No trace of sadness in her sunlit eyes.
We love thee, Summer, child of Paradise—
A myriad host announce thy coming doom
Chanting the requiem of thy wintry tomb,
While lovingly look down the tender skies;
A holy hush is in the hazy air
As in thy radiant beauty thou dost sleep!
Nature, arrayed in rainbow colors fair,
Is strong of heart her vigil long to keep:
We know the secret thou dost seek to tell,—
Thou art immortal, Summer, fare thee well.