Forgotten for a brief
space were his own trials as he pored over that sacred page. How often had
he read that story, and meditated upon every word, but never before did he
realize the full significance of the scene. "Wonderful, wonderful," he
murmured again, as he reverently closed the Book. "Thank God--oh, thank
God for that life of suffering and sorrow! He knows our human needs. He
trod the winepress alone, and must I, His unworthy servant, expect to
escape? So, my Father, do with me what is best. 'Not my will, but Thine be
done.'"
At this moment Nellie entered the room. She noticed the changed expression
upon her father's face, and, crossing to where he was, stood by his side.
"Do you feel better, father?" she asked.
"Yes, dear. My heart was very heavy a short time ago, but it is lighter
now. I seem to see my way more clearly. The darkness has passed, and a new
peace has come to me. Will you sing something for me, dearie?"
"Certainly, father. What shall it be?"
"Your mother's favorite hymn. The one she sang just before she left us."
Taking her seat at the little harmonium, Nellie gently touched the keys,
and in a clear, sweet voice sang the old favourite hymn:
"The sands of Time are sinking,
The dawn of Heaven breaks,
The summer morn I've sighed for.
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