reshment, but comes bearing the fumes of
death.

Do you think you would never sing at all, unless you sometimes forgot
such solemn thoughts? Ah there you are mistaken.

"Behold, my servants shall sing for joy of heart." [18]

Not forgetfully, but in full remembrance.

"Is any merry? let him sing psalms." [19]

"Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage." [20]

Now somebody will say that I have wandered quite away from recreation,
and gone off to church. But no; I am speaking of heart and home music.
You all know that there is no _recreation_ about most of your music
now-a-days. You bore yourselves and other people with much practising,
and when you have learned, as you think, then you drop it all. Who is
ready with a song for some weary, tuneless life? or who "keeps up her
music" till the tired years of her own? Work for it, pay for it, drop
it,--that is the record. Your music, as it is, is a dead thing; and I
want you to put the principle of life in it. For whatever you begin
for your Master, you will also hold fast for him.

Read over these words and ponder them well:

"He that had received the five talents, went and traded with the same,
and made them other five talents." [21]

Every gift the man had, was used for Christ.

How precious a gift this musical power is! how usable a gift.

"A very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play
well on an instrument." [22]

How much it can do for ourselves, for the world.

"David took an harp, and played with his hand; so Saul was refreshed,
and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him." [23]

I have never forgotten how a lady with no great musical skill or
education sang a verse of a hymn for me one night. It was at a little
party, so she could not raise her voice above the softest undertone;
but she sang that verse just to let me hear the tune, which I did not
know. The words were familiar:

"There is a fountain filled with blood"--

I suppose I have often heard them what you call "better sung"; but
never with more lovely effect. Every word, every note, was absolutely
distinct and clear, yet not one rising above that undertone: I doubt if
even the people nearest to us heard; and the most restless nerves, the
weariest head, could have listened and been refreshed. I know my eyes
grew full; and I thought to myself, "Ah, you have practised your voice
by many a sick bed, and trained it for just that work."