the songs of David in our churches.

One of the Psalms that everybody loves is a song that David made when
he remembered the days before he came to Saul's camp. He remembered
the days and nights he used to spend in the fields with the sheep, when
he was just a shepherd boy; and he thought to himself that God had
taken care of him just as carefully as he used to care for the little
lambs. It is a beautiful song; I wish we knew the music that David
made for it, but we only know his words. I will tell it to you now,
and then you may learn it, to say for yourselves.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the
still waters.

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for
his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou
anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and
I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

THE HIDDEN SERVANTS[1]

[1] Adapted, with quotations, from the poem in The Hidden Servants, by
Francesca Alexander (Little, Brown & Co.).

This is a legend about a hermit who lived long ago. He lived high up
on the mountain-side in a tiny cave; his food was roots and acorns, a
bit of bread given by a peasant, or a cheese brought by a woman who
wanted his prayers; his work was praying, and thinking about God. For
forty years he lived so, preaching to the people, praying for them,
comforting them in trouble, and, most of all, worshiping in his heart.
There was just one thing he cared about: it was to make his soul so
pure and perfect that it could be one of the stones in God's great
Temple of Heaven.

One day, after the forty years, he had a great longing to know how far
along he had got with his work,--how it looked to the Heavenly Father.
And he prayed that he might be shown a man--

"Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown
To the selfsame measure as his own;
Whose treasure on the celestial shore
Could neither be less than his nor more."

As he looked up from his prayer, a white-robed angel stood in the path
before him. The hermit bowed before the messenger with great gladness,
for he knew that his wish was answered. "Go to th