will pray for us to God.
O how glad I am," and the dear child clapped her dimpled hands with
delight.

And so they went to church Sabbath after Sabbath, while Emma ever
seemed to enjoy the services, often making observations upon what
she heard. She inquired every day if it were Sunday; and Saturday
evenings her play things were all carefully laid aside, and she
expressed great sympathy for poor little children that played upon
that day.

The story of the cross would affect her to tears, and yet she loved
to dwell upon it, and it was with great effort her attention could be
withdrawn from it.

One rosy twilight hour, when the departed beams of the sun still
lingered, tinging the curtains of the west with those bright and
gorgeous hues that so frequently surround him at his setting. Emma and
her mother sat down to spend that happy hour together, and gaze upon
the scene.

Spring was rapidly advancing, and the face of nature was lovely to the
eye. The half open buds upon the trees shed sweet perfume, and birds
carolled their evening songs on every spray.

But the things of earth, beautiful though they were, could not satisfy
the mind of the child, and when the golden stars spangled the blue
canopy above, she talked of golden harps, of her angel cousin, and the
mysteries of that unseen world,

"Beyond planets, suns, and adamantine spheres."

Suddenly assuming a more thoughtful expression, she said,

"O mamma, what would you do if Emma should die? You would have to
carry away my crib and little chair, and put all my play things away,
and you would have no little Emma. O mamma, how lonesome you would
be;" and bursting into a convulsive fit of sobbing she flung her arms
around her mother's neck and wept upon her bosom. Tears too, dimmed
the mother's eyes as she pressed her fondly to her heart, and kissed
away her tears, while a painful thought went through her heart, "can
it be her conversation is prophetic?"

She soothed her troubled spirit, spoke of the joys of heaven, and
after listening to her childish prayer, laid her in her little crib
with a sweet good night murmured in her ear. Returning to her sitting
room, long and sadly she reflected upon the words of her darling
child, and tried to fathom their import, and earnestly did she pray
that night, "Our Father, prepare me for whatsoever thou art preparing
for me, and enable me ever to say, 'thy will be done;'" and she
retired to rest with a subdued spirit,