of the Great Father,
within whose sight the rich and poor are alike. But while he stood
there, an angel with golden hair and gleaming wings bent over him,
holding precious heart-seed, gathered from the white plains of the
spirit-land, and as the child drew nearer the church steps, the
angel followed.

Suddenly the little dapper sexton, with his broad smile and bustling
gait, came out of the church. His eyes rested a moment upon the
young wistful face and on the ragged garments, and then he beckoned
to the child.

"Shall I take you in here, my boy?" asked a voice kinder and
pleasanter than any which the child had ever heard; and as he
timidly bowed his head, the sexton took the little soiled hand in
his own, and they passed in, and the angel followed them.

Seated in one corner of the church, the child's eyes wandered over
the frescoed walls, with the sunshine flitting like the fringe of a
spirit's robe across it, and up the dim aisle to the great marble
pulpit, with a kind of bewildered awe, for he had seen nothing of
the like before, unless it might be in some dim, half-forgotten
dream; but when the heavy doors swung together and the Sabbath hush
gathered over the church, and the hallelujahs of the organ filled
the house of the Lord and thrilled the heart of the child; he bowed
his head and wept sweet tears--he could not tell whence was their
coming. Then the solemn prayer from the pulpit--"O, Thou who lovest
all men, who art the Father of the old and the young, the rich and
the poor, and in whose sight they are alike precious, grant us Thy
blessing," came to the ears of the child, and a new cry awoke in his
soul. _Where_ was this Father? It did not seem true that He could
love him, a poor little, hungry, ragged beggar; that such a one
could be his child. But, oh! it was just what his heart longed for,
and if all others were _precious_ to this Great Father, he did not
believe He would leave him out. If he could only find Him--no matter
how long the road was, nor how cold and hungry he might be, he would
keep straight on the way, until he reached Him, and then he would go
right in and say, "Father, I am cold and hungry, and very wretched.
There is no one to love me, none to care for me. May I be your
child, Father?" And perhaps He would look kindly upon him, and
whisper softly, as no human being had ever whispered to him, "My
child!" and stronger and wilder from his heart came up that cry,
"Oh, if I could only fin