Father of Lights, from whom cometh every good and perfect gift, we thank Thee for the morning and for the sunshine. We rejoice in the light, but when it is hidden from us, we are thankful that in the upper air above our clouded morning it still fills Thy heavens. Thou gavest us good things while we slept, and now, refreshed by Thy Spirit, may we go forth to our appointed tasks with cheerful obedience and joyful expectation. If trial and trouble await us, or if, in the heat of the day the burden seems too great, may we still be comforted, because we put our trust in Thee. Amen.
April 16
But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes
Over its breast, to waken it, rare verdure
Buds tenderly upon rough banks between
The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost,
Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face;
The grass grows bright, the boughs are swol'n with blooms
Like chrysalids impatient for the air,
The shining dors are busy, beetles run
Along the furrows; ants make their ado;
Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark
Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;
Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing gulls
Flit where the sand is purple with its tribe
Of nested limpits; savage creatures seek
Their loves in wood and plain—and God renews
His ancient rapture.
Robert Browning.
O Lord, who givest to mankind liberally, and upbraidest not, we thank Thee for the blessings Thou bestowest from day to day. We thank Thee for this material world, now clad in its garment of Northern beauty, for the great sun which all day pours down his light upon the waiting and the grateful world, and for the earth underneath our feet. We bless Thee for the grass, bread for the cattle, its harvest of use spread everywhere, and for the various beauty which here and there spangles all useful things which Thine eye looks down upon. May we use this world of matter to build up the being that we are to a nobler stature of strength and of beauty. Amen.
April 17
O brothers all! come near
And hear
A bird's
Melodious dreaming set to words, and flung
The spring's new leaves and tender buds among,
For very joy of life, and hope, and love
In a world made broad enough
For all God's creatures to be merry in,
With joyous clash and din,
And yet too small
For any greed at all!
Lo! deep and sure
Is cut this truth in heaven's book of gold:
Out of one mother in the garden old
Were born the rich and poor.
Maurice Thompson.