me from a hard and doubting heart. May I be trustful
and come to thee in faith. All the days of my life may my lips sing
thy praise as I unfold thy love and purposes. Amen.

NOVEMBER NINETEENTH

Nicolas Poussin died 1665.

Albert Thorwaldsen born 1770.

James A. Garfield, Ohio, twentieth President United
States, born 1831.

Mary Hallock Foote born 1847.

Count Lyoff (Leo) Tolstoy died 1910.

And son I live, you see,
Go through the world, try, prove, reject,
Prefer, still struggling to effect
My warfare; happy that I can
Be crossed and thwarted as a man,
Not left in God's contempt apart,
With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart,
Tame in earth's paddock, as her prize.

--Robert Browning.

Be good at the depths of you, and you will discover that those who
surround you will be good even to the same depths. Therein lies a
force that has no name; a spiritual rivalry that has no resistance.

--Maurice Maeterlinck.

First of all, I must make myself a man; if I do not succeed in that,
I can succeed in nothing.

--James A. Garfield.

That we may be no longer children, tossed to and fro and carried
about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, in
craftiness, after the wiles of error.

--Ephesians 4. 14.

Eternal God, I thank thee for all the sterling elements that greaten
the individual life. I pray that I may not desire to be kept a small
creature, but seek to grow in wisdom and love, and qualify for mighty
purposes and achievements. Amen.

NOVEMBER TWENTIETH

Paul Potter born 1625.

Thomas Chatterton born 1752.

William Ellery Channing born 1818.

Sir Wilfred Laurier born 1841.

Then why, my soul, dost thou complain?
Why drooping seek the dark recess?
Shake off the melancholy chain,
For God created all to bless.

The gloomy mantle of the night,
Which on my sinking spirits steals,
Will vanish at the morning light,
Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals.

--Thomas Chatterton.

Lady, there is a hope that all men have--
Some mercy for their faults, a grassy place
To rest in, and a flower-strewn, gentle grave:
Another hope which purifies our race,
That when that fearful bourne forever past,
They may find rest--and rest so long to last.

I seek it not, I ask no rest forever,
My path is onward to the farthest shore