---

A day, what is it? A space of light between two mountain-walls of darkness; a time of redemption from the kingdom of Chaos and Old Night; the half or the two-thirds of life really given us to live; the season of consciousness, duty, trial; the end and aim for which sleep is given, and the veil of temporary oblivion and rest spread over our faculties so many hours. Wonderful and rich, far beyond the line of our usual appreciation, is the gift of a day. It stands like a monument between the eternity of the past and the eternity of the future. One day! It is little; a fugitive twenty-four hours, a hurried routine, a mill-horse round of cares and toils, a succession of meals, — breakfast, dinner, supper, — a miniature life, "rounded with a sleep," a daybreak of childhood, a morning of youth and hope, a noonday of manhood and activity, a twilight of age and pensiveness, a night of death. How quickly it is here, how soon it is gone! But in this very shortness of a day we discern a benevolent intention. Constituted as we are, we could not bear the burden of a double day. Literally, our "strength is according to our day, and our day according to our strength." They have been weighed and balanced by a sure Hand, one to the other. The mechanical arrangements by which the day is made, the position of the earth and the sun and their respective revolutions, and those of the other planetary and celestial bodies, the nature of the influence exerted on us by the sun through light, heat, and electricity and other elements, too subtle and delicate for our coarse senses to take cognizance of them, all are indications of the Fatherly care over us, and fitted to assure us that "this is the day which the Lord hath made," and to inspire us to "rejoice and be glad in it" We discern a most beneficent intention in the separation and subdivision of our life into daily fragments. Each night is a gentle semi-oblivion, that our past lives may not tyrannize over us, that the door of progress may still be kept open, that we may have in some sense a new and untrammelled being every day. Every night is a faint death, every morning a fresh birth. The blessing of the day depends in no slight degree on the manner in which we begin it, on the key-note of the morning hour. It is well begun by the Almighty Disposer. He gives us a new world, bathed in dew, blushing with the dawn, vocal with the song of birds, while clouds of vapour and smoke rise like columns of incense from hill and vale and human homes to heaven. Fair and gracious world of ours, we feel like saying, how sad and strange it is that we should ever forget that this is a Divine handiwork, or that we should ever abuse such royal gifts by our ingratitude and disobedience! Devotion is the spontaneous service of the morning. To invoke the guardian care of Heaven, and to bless its new mercies, is but a fitting counterpart to all the other beauty, and solemnity, and hope, and renewed life of the world. Shall the birds arise and sing at the gate of heaven, and man feel no uplifting sentiment at the birth of a new day? "Man," says the psalmist, "goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening." That work and labour, the heat and burden of the day, called, in the external and figurative language of the elementary dispensation, "a curse," have proved on long trial, and in the wide experience of a world, to be some of the best blessings of the day. Who has the pleasant, consciousness of being useful? The worker. Who stores up the rich memories of many things done? The worker. Who sleeps sweetly? The worker. Who relishes his food more than the epicure? The hard worker. Who enjoys leisure? He who has used his time so industriously that he has earned a right to be idle. Who can understand the full measure of blessing in a day, bug he who has so earnestly pursued its opportunities that its minutes are to him as gems, and its hours as diamonds? There is great work yet to be done on this planet, — continents to be reclaimed, oceans to be navigated, wild elements to be yoked to the car of human progress, acres of brains to be tilled, Augean stables of moral filth to be purified, swarming multitudes of souls to be touched to finer spiritual issues, vast social Saharas to be clothed with verdure, new and grander organizations in Church and State, and family, and art, and labour, and literature, to be formed, that shall make our modern homes, and sanctuaries and schools, galleries and Crystal Palaces, seem to be but the bungling work of apprentices compared with the productions of the perfect Master-workman. The past history of our race has its representative in the night, — dreamy, sleepy, irresponsible, fearful, often riotous, artificially lighted, addicted to passion, meteor-led night. The ages have been dark ages, and history has been profane, and the earth has not been holy land. But the dayspring from on high hath visited us, and the future is to be a day of action, usefulness, progress, as the past has been a night of preparation, dreams, and darkness.

(A. A. Livermore.)

---

---

KJV: This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.

WEB: This is the day that Yahweh has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it!