gelic
harmony blent with a mortal song. But sleeping, still more sweetly sang
the "Holy Child;" and then, too, in some diviner inspiration than ever
was granted to it while awake, her soul composed its own hymns, and set
the simple scriptural words to its own mysterious music--the tunes she
loved best gliding into one another, without once ever marring the
melody, with pathetic touches interposed never heard before, and never
more, to be renewed! For each dream had its own breathing, and
many-visioned did then seem to be the sinless creature's sleep!

The love that was borne for her, all over the hill-region and beyond its
circling clouds, was almost such as mortal creatures might be thought to
feel for some existence that had visibly come from heaven! Yet all who
looked on her saw that she, like themselves, was mortal; and many an eye
was wet, the heart wist not why, to hear such wisdom falling from her
lips; for dimly did it prognosticate, that as short as bright would be
her walk from the cradle to the grave. And thus for the "Holy Child" was
their love elevated by awe, and saddened by pity--and as by herself she
passed pensively by their dwellings, the same eyes that smiled on her
presence, on her disappearance wept!

Not in vain for others--and for herself, oh! what great gain!--for these
few years on earth, did that pure spirit ponder on the word of God!
Other children became pious from their delight in her piety---for she
was simple as the simplest among them all, and walked with them hand in
hand, nor spurned companionship with any one that was good. But all grew
good by being with her---and parents had but to whisper her name--and in
a moment the passionate sob was hushed---the lowering brow lighted--and
the household in peace. Older hearts owned the power of the piety, so
far surpassing their thoughts; and time-hardened sinners, it is said,
when looking and listening to the "Holy Child," knew the errors of their
ways, and returned to the right path, as at a voice from heaven.

Bright was her seventh summer--the brightest, so the aged said, that had
ever, in man's memory, shone over Scotland. One long, still, sunny, blue
day followed another; and in the rainless weather, though the dews kept
green the hills, the song of the streams was low. But paler and paler,
in sunlight and moonlight, became the sweet face that had been always
pale; and the voice that had been always something mournful, breathed
lower and