I never did forget it. There remained within me a sweet, haunting
feeling of having come near the "gentle Shepherd" of the hymn,
who was calling the lambs to his side. The chapter had ended
with the echo of a voice from heaven, and with the glimpse of a
descending Dove. And the water-drops on my forehead, were they
not from that "pure river of water of life, clear as crystal,"
that made music through those lovely verses in the last chapter
of the good Book?
I am glad that I have always remembered that day of family
consecration. As I look back, it seems as if the horizons of
heaven and earth met and were blended then. And who can tell
whether the fragrance of that day's atmosphere may not enter into
the freshness of some new childhood in the life which is to come?
III.
THE HYMN-BOOK.
ALMOST the first decided taste in my life was the love of hymns.
Committing them to memory was as natural to me as breathing. I
followed my mother about with the hymn-book ("Watts' and
Select"), reading or repeating them to her, while she was busy
with her baking or ironing, and she was always a willing
listener.
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