Sitting at the
window with my book and my knitting, while she was preparing
dinner or supper with a depressed air because she missed the
abundant provision to which she held been accustomed, I would go
from hymn to hymn, selecting those which I thought would be most
comforting to her, out of the many that my memory-book contained,
and taking care to pronounce the words distinctly.
I was glad to observe that she listened to
"Come, ye disconsolate,"
and
"How firm a foundation;"
and that she grew more cheerful; though I did not feel sure that
my singing cheered her so much as some happier thought that had
come to her out of her own heart. Nobody but my mother, indeed,
would have called my chirping singing. But as she did not seem
displeased, I went on, a little more confidently, with some hymns
that I loved for their starry suggestions,--
"When marshaled on the nightly plain,"
and
"Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,"
and
"Watchman, tell us of the night?"
The most beautiful picture in the Bible to me, certainly the
loveliest in the Old Testament, had always been that one painted
by prophecy, of the time when wild and tame creatures should live
together in peace, and children should be their fearless play-
mates.
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