Leigh Hunt.
O Thou who art the Creator of life in every form in which it is expressed in the earth, we thank Thee for the grass and the flowers, the trees and the shrubs, the music of the streams and the melody of the birds. As nature is ever vocal with Thy praise, so may our hearts be attuned to deepest joy that we are a part of Thy creation and made capable of constant exultation in the beauty and the beneficence of Thy purpose therein displayed. In this spirit may we rejoice and be glad in this new day which Thou hast made for us. Amen.
May 21
As one familiar with the sonatas and the symphonies of Beethoven, while passing along the street in summer, gets, from out of the open window, a snatch of a song or a piece that is being played, catching a strain here and another there—and says to himself, "Ah, that is Beethoven. I recognize that: it is from such and such a movement of the Pastoral" or whatever it may be;—so men in life catch strains of God in the mother's disinterested and self-denying love, in the lover's glow, in the little child's innocent affections. Where did this thing come from? No plant ever brought out such fruit as this?
Henry Ward Beecher.
Father of all and giver of every good thing, to Thee we pray; to Thee we look for light, for truth, for beauty. In the travail of thought may there come only the highest and best good. Where there is division we ask for unity; where there is confusion we ask for serenity; where there is discord, we ask for harmony. May divergent paths lead to the larger way of widening vision, distinctive service, unstinted love. Hasten the day when Thy purpose shall be accomplished in us, and when that which is now imperfect shall become the perfected whole. Grant to us wisdom to pursue noble ends with intelligent zeal, and patient effort, and in a charitable and hopeful spirit. Amen.
May 22
It is very interesting to watch a plant grow, it is like taking part in creation. When all outside is cold and white, when the little children of the woodland are gone to their nurseries in the warm earth and the empty nests on the bare trees filled with snow, my window-garden glows and smiles, making summer within while it is winter without. It is wonderful to see flowers bloom in the midst of a snow-storm! I have felt a bud "shyly doff her green hood and blossom with a silken burst of sound," while the icy fingers of the snow beat against the window panes. What secret power, I wonder, caused this blossoming miracle? What mysterious force guided the seedling from the dark earth up to the light, through leaf and stem and bud, to glorious fulfilment in the perfect flower? Who could have dreamed that such beauty lurked in the dark earth, was latent in the tiny seed we planted? Beautiful flower, you have taught me to see a little way into the hidden heart of things. Now I understand that the darkness everywhere may hold possibilities better than even my hopes.