[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":4},["ShallowReactive",2],{"reading-0521":3},"MAY 21\r\nI call to remembrance my song in the night (Psalm 77:6).\r\nI have read somewhere of a little bird that will never sing the\r\nmelody his master wishes while his cage is full of fight He learns a snatch of this, a bar of that, but never an entire song of its\r\nown until the cage is covered and the morning beams shut out.\r\nA good many people never learn to sing until the darkling shadows\r\nfall. The fabled nightingale carols with his breast against a\r\nthorn. It was in the night that the song of the angels was heard. It was at midnight that the cry came, \"Behold, the bridegroom    cometh; go ye out to meet him.\"\r\nIndeed it is extremely doubtful if a soul can really know the love\r\nof God in its richness and in its comforting, satisfying completeness until the skies are black and lowering.\r\nLight comes out of darkness, morning out of the womb of the night\r\nJames Creelman, in one of his letters, describes his trip through\r\nthe Balkan States in search of Natalie, the exiled Queen of Serbia.\r\n\"In that memorable journey,\" he says, \"I learned for the first time\r\nthat the world's supply of attar of roses comes from the Balkan\r\nMountains. And the thing that interested me most,\" he goes on, \"is that the roses must be gathered in the darkest hours. The pickers  start out at one &clock and finish picking them at two.\r\n\"At first it seemed to me a relic of superstition; but I\r\ninvestigated the picturesque mystery, and learned that actual scientific tests had proven that fully forty per cent of the\r\n\r\nfragrance of roses disappeared in the fight of day.\"\r\nAnd in human life and human culture that is not a playful, fanciful conceit it is a real veritable fact.\r\n-- Makolm J. McLeod.",1783499793043]