
NOVEMBER TWENTY-SECOND
Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,
My garden makes a desert spot,
Sometimes a blight upon the tree
Takes all my fruit away from me;
And then with throes of bitter pain
Rebellious passions rise and swell;
And so I sing and all is well.
âPaul Laurence Dunbar.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like benediction
That follows after prayer.
âHenry W. Longfellow.
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
âPercy Bysshe Shelley.
David took the harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.
â1 Samuel 16. 23.
Almighty God, I thank thee that thou wilt come to me as my heart cries for need. I bless thee that thou dost come to me as my lips sing thy praise. I pray that I may be saved from a cruel and cheerless heart, and be a sharer of the songs that are sung to the soul. Amen.
