Some of them were so prosy that
the words would not stay in my memory at all, so I concluded that
I would learn only those I liked.
I had various reasons for my preferences. With some, I was caught
by a melodious echo, or a sonorous ring; with others by the hint
of a picture, or a story, or by some sacred suggestion that
attracted me, I knew not why. Of some I was fond just because I
misunderstood them; and of these I made a free version in my
mind, as I murmured them over. One of my first favorites was
certainly rather a singular choice for a child of three or four
years. I had no idea of its meaning, but made up a little story
out of it, with myself as the heroine. It began with the words--
"Come, humble sinner, in whose breast
A thousand thoughts revolve."
The second stanza read thus:--
"I'll go to Jesus, though my sin
Hath like a mountain rose."
I did not know that this last line was bad grammar, but thought
that the sin in question was something pretty, that looked "like
a mountain rose.
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