and seemed to quiver with the sacred song, as from every room and cell those brave men sang,

"Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

As the song died out on the still night that enveloped in darkness the doomed city of Richmond, the young man arose and happily said,

"Prisons would palaces prove,

If Jesus would dwell with me there."

In the great cotton famine in England, which desolated Lancashire for long and weary months, the conduct of the operatives was the admiration of the world. There were no riots and no excess of crimes. The people, men and women, went into the Sunday-school houses and prayed. They had been taught to do so, and they were upheld in the time of trial by the truths they had learned. When the first wagon load of cotton arrived, the people unhooked the horses and drew it themselves, and surrounding it began to sing - what do you think they sang? They sang the grand old doxology, while the tears came flowing down their cheeks.


A YOUNG Scottish lady of rank, whose heart the Lord had touched and opened, longed to draw others within the circle of a Saviour's love; but among the gay and proud who were her companions, the merry jest, the gay laugh, and the light and frivolous manner of her associates, hindered every effort, and seemed to hedge her way before her on every hand. Discouraged and sad, oppressed with the burden of the Lord, and knowing not how to attain the desire of her heart, she carried the matter to God in prayer, and, as was her custom, closed the day with a song of praise. Shortly after she had finished her song, her serving maid entered the room in tears, and besought her to sing again the sacred words, and in broken accents told how those strains had touched and melted her heart.

"No words of entreaty," said she, "could ever affect my soul as those plaintive songs to which for weeks I had listened, as my mistress poured out in them her love for the Redeemer, and her faith and trust in him." 125

Sleep fled that night from the eyes of the young disciple, in the new joy and thankfulness that filled her heart at the discovery of the blessing God had granted upon the songs she had sung. "That talent," she said, “I have consecrated to God. I will sing for him; and if through this means I may touch souls, my happiness shall be complete.”

From this time, she devoted herself to the study and expression of sacred song; and while she touched with skill the various instruments on which she had learned to play, her voice of wondrous power would entrance and thrill her hearers. It was the outgushing of her joyous heart; the thanksgiving of a redeemed soul; her testimony, poured upon careless ears, concerning the wondrous love of him who came to save our race; who cares for all his creatures; who gathered little children to his arms, and whose blessing crowns with joy the saint of God, even down to hoary hairs. Many were charmed and cheered with her songs. The sweet story of old, thus rendered, seemed to possess new power to melt the careless heart. In cottages and halls, in

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the drawing-room of wealth and the homes of humble life, she sung her songs for Jesus, while with lifted heart she sought his blessing on the offering; and ere many months had passed away, she had the delight of knowing that numbers of those around her had, through the songs she sang, been led to taste the joy which she tasted, being brought up out of the horrible pit and miry clay, and placed upon the Living Rock, and having a new song put in their mouths.

THE choir of a church in New York city have truly consecrated their gift of song to the service of Christ. Not content with leading the praise of the great congregation, they are earnest song-workers in the Sunday-school. And they do not stop here. An aged blind woman will tell you how often they make her lonely home happy, bringing to her visions and dreams of the beautiful land. No wonder the dear old soul, in humble, but heartfelt appreciation, breaks in upon the strains which they sing, with her tender, "Bless the Lord!” you follow these song messengers after they


have left the blind Christian, you shall find them among the sick and dying. The sufferer forgets his pain, in listening to their melodies; and the spirit that is going home, floats peacefully away to its rest in heaven.

Church and Sunday-school singers every where might well ponder the blessed example of this choir, and join them in making the waste places around them vocal with "songs of the beautiful."

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