Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
      Ere the sorrow comes with years? 
    They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
      And they cannot stop their tears. 
    The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
      The young birds are chirping in the nests;
    The young fawns are playing with the shadows;
      The young flowers are blowing toward the west: 
    But the young, young children, O my brothers! 
      They are weeping bitterly. 
    They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
      In the country of the free.

    —­Elizabeth B. Browning.

    Moreover thou hast taken thy sons and thy daughters, whom thou hast
    borne unto me, and these hast thou sacrificed unto them to be
    devoured.

    —­Ezekiel 16. 20.

Father of all, I pray that I may always love children.  May I never forget that I wanted things and needed things when I was a child, and that the help and neglect which I received then told in my life.  Make me interested in the purposes that will help the progress of the child to-day, and may I realize that the child does not need my casual charity as much as it needs my permanent justice.  Amen.

JUNE THIRTIETH

Alexander Brome died 1666.

Archibald Campbell beheaded 1685.

Sir Thomas Pope Blount died 1697.

    Be useful where thou livest, that they may
      Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still;
    Kindness, good parts, great places are the way
      To compass this.  Find out men’s wants and will,
    And meet them there.  All worldly joys go less
    To the one joy of doing kindnesses.

    —­George Herbert.

    Thrice happy he, who by some shady grove,
      Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own;
      Though solitary, who is not alone,
    But doth converse with that eternal love

    —­William Drummond.

    Seek, and ye shall find.

    —­Matthew 7. 7.

My Father, help me to draw from the wisdom of life, that my soul may grow in knowledge and power.  May I have the quiet confidence that comes in trusting thee.  May I help others to think on the uplifting things of life.  Amen.

JULY

    Then came hot July, boiling like to fire,
      That all his garments he had cast away;
    Upon a lion raging yet with ire
      He boldly rode, and made him to obey.

    —­Edmund Spenser.

    A pleasing land of drowsyhead it was,
      Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
    And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
      For ever flushing round a summer sky.

    —­James Thomson.

JULY FIRST

Comte de Rochambeau born 1725.