hey come back to
me, and I would give very much to hear the like again. So full of
music, too. Voices untrained by art, but gifted by nature; melodious
and powerful; that took different parts in the tune, and carried them
through without the jar of a false note or a false quantity; and a
love both of song and of the truth which made the music mighty. It was
the greatest delight to me that singing, whether I joined them or only
listened. One,--the thought of it comes over me now and brings the
water to my eyes,--

"Am I a soldier of the cross--
Of the cross--
Of the cross--
A follower of the Lamb;
And shall I fear to own his cause,
Own his cause--
Own his cause--
Or blush to speak his name?"

The repetitions at the end of every other line were both plaintive and
strong; there was no weakness, but some recognition of what it costs
in certain circumstances to "own His cause." I loved that dearly. But
that was only one of many.

Also, the Bible words were wonderful sweet to me, as I was giving them
out to those who else had a "famine of the word." Bread to the hungry
is quite another thing from bread on the tables of the full.

The winter had worn well on, before I received the answer to the
letter I had written my father about the prayer-meetings and Mr.
Edwards. It was a short answer, not in terms but in actual extent;
showing that my father was not strong and well yet. It was very kind
and tender, as well as short; I felt that in every word. In substance,
however, it told me I had better let Mr. Edwards alone. He knew what
he ought to do about the prayer-meetings and about other things; and
they were what I could not judge about. So my letter said. It said,
too, that things seemed strange to me because I was unused to them;
and that when I had lived longer at the South they would cease to be
strange, and I would understand them and look upon them as every one
else did.

I studied and pondered this letter; not greatly disappointed, for I
had had but slender hopes that my petition could work anything. Yet I
had a disappointment to get over. The first practical use I made of my
letter, I went where I could be alone with it--indeed, I was that when
I read it,--but I went to a solitary lonely place, where I could not
be interrupted; and there I