A CANADIAN PASTOR'S STORY.
"Annie and Maggie, the children before mentioned, were taken out to Canada by Miss Macpherson, and were at first unavoidably placed in families residing at some distance from each other. The younger one was brought back to the Marchmont Home on account of a peculiar lisp, which her master's children were acquiring from her. Almost immediately another farmer called for a girl to assist his wife in the care of her little ones. He saw little Maggie, cared nothing for her lisp, and would have her away with him. On taking down his address, it was found that he lived on the farm next to that where the elder, sister was placed. It was near the end of the week, and on the next Sabbath morning an unexpected meeting occurred, feelingly described in the following verses. The incident was related to Miss Macpherson by the pastor himself."
Come now, a story, dear papa,
Now find a knee for each;
You said, papa, that once you heard
Two little sisters preach
A better sermon far than you:
Jane says that cannot be.
We want to know, so tell us now,
Before they bring the tea.
Come then, my darlings, you must know,
Beyond the wild deep sea,
In London's streets, these sisters grew
In want and misery.
Their parents died, and they were left,
Poor girls, in sore distress;
Ah! dear ones, may you never know
An orphan's loneliness!
But kindly hearts, which God had touched,
Felt for them in their grief;
He taught them too the surest way
To give such woes relief.
Away from London's crowded streets,
They bade the sisters come,
Within our brave, broad Canada,
To find a pleasant home.
A pleasant home for each was found,
But far apart they lay;
And thus apart the sisters dwelt
While long months rolled away.
Poor little girls! 'twas very sad;
They were too young to write;
And no one guessed the quiet tears
Poor Annie shed at night.
Among our Sabbath-scholars soon
I learned to watch her face;
A quiet sadness on her brow
I fancied I could trace.
One summer's morning, Sabbath peace
Filled all the sunny air,
And all within God's house was hushed,
To wait the opening prayer;
When up the aisle a neighbour came,
With hushed but hasty tread;
And by the hand with kindly care
A little girl he led.
A sudden cry ran through the church,
A cry of rapture wild;
And starting from her seat we saw
Our quiet English child.
"Sister! my sister!" was the cry
That through the silence rung,
As round the little stranger's neck
Her eager arms she flung.
And tears and kisses mingling fast,
She pressed on lip and cheek;
For silent tears can sometimes tell
What words are poor to speak.
Then soft o'er cheek, and brow, and hair,
Her trembling fingers crept;
Then heart to heart, and cheek to cheek,
Those loving sisters wept.
Nor they alone, for strong men sobbed;
Women stood weeping by;
And little ones looked up amazed,
And asked what made them cry.
Oh, broken was the prayer we prayed,
Scarce could we raise the hymn;
And when God's holy book I read,
My eyes with tears were dim.
And yet we felt the Saviour there,
Right in our midst that day;
"Will you not love my little ones?"
We almost heard Him say.
No need of laboured words that day
Long hardened hearts to move;
Well had the sisters' meeting preached
The lesson, "God is Love."
His heart had felt their childish grief,
The while they mourned apart;
His loving-hand had wrought the plan,
To bring them heart to heart.