xpectant
faces awaited me, knowing I would give entertainment. There was one
poor sufferer who never expected to see his home again. On my arrival
he was not able to leave his room. Being informed that the singing
lady had arrived, he sadly sighed on his pillow, "Then I'll not hear
her, as I had hoped." After the second evening Mrs. Roop related the
story of the young man who was dying slowly and was so disappointed
that he could not hear me sing before he passed away. I was touched by
this appeal. I soon found four good voices among the guests and we
arranged the quartette and practiced together until we could sing with
soft effect. After we had entertained the guests for an hour we all
marched quietly to the cottage of the young man. The moon was at its
height and the time and scene befitting our tribute to the dying soul.
The nurse opened the door quietly. The invalid had fallen asleep in
the back room, the moon shining in at his window in soft light upon
his pale face. With voices subdued we began the song of Home, Sweet
Home. He talked in his sleep, "Yes, I am coming home." He heard, yet
was not enough awake to know the song was sung by earthly voices. At
last, with a deep sigh, he awoke and said, "Nurse, I have been called
home. Shall I hear her sing before I go?" "Yes, I think so." While he
spoke the sign was given and I sang Nearer, My God, to Thee, with the
other voices softly following each verse. "Oh, the angel has come at
last." "Listen, she is singing to you," said the nurse. "Hark, is it
not the angel voices? Is it real? Then I have heard the heavenly song
before I go. Oh, how beautiful it all is and how kind of all these
friends to come to me and make me so happy with their song in my last
hours on earth. Listen," he whispered. "Still another song for me," he
gasped out. Safe in the Arms of Jesus we sang and he was listening
intently as his life was ebbing away. As we closed the hymn, Sweetly
His Soul Shall Rest, he had crossed the River of Life and nothing
remained but the casket, emaciated and cold in death, with the face of
a saint and a smile on his silent lips--gone to his eternal rest to
hear the music of angelic voices around the Throne of God. This is the
cup of cold water our Savior bade us to give. If the gift of the human
voice is sanctified in such work of love, then it is worth while for
every one who can sing and has this glorious gift of song to strive
for the most beautiful use of it known