"I love to hear the story,
Which angel voices tell,
How once the King of Glory
Came down on earth to dwell;"
"I am both weak and sinful,
But this I surely know,
The Lord came down to save me,
Because He loved me so."
Millie came to a pause.
"I've forgot the next verse," she said. "Mother, Harry likes me to sing. He's got his eyes open. Harry likes hymns about Jesus and the angels, don't he?"
Martha only said "Go on," in a choked voice.
And Millie started the last verse, Bobbie still following her lead.
"To sing His love and mercy,
My sweetest songs I'll raise,
And though I cannot see Him,
I know He hears my praise:
For He has kindly promised
That even I may go
To sing among His angels,
Because He loves me so."
Baby Harry lay quite still. There was no response of look or word, as in earlier and brighter days. The blue eyes were shut, and the small face was white—how white Martha could not see in the dim light, though she could feel how heavily he lay on her arm. She resolved anew that on Monday, if he were not better, he must see the doctor.
But no Monday would ever dawn for little Harry. He was slipping quietly away from the hard and bitter strifes of men, with all their sorrowful consequences, away to the Land of peace where love alone has sway; where want can never enter; where hunger and thirst are unknown. He who had "kindly promised" a Home among the angels, was even now drawing baby Harry out of the mother's clasp into His own strong and gentle Arms, "because He loved him so."
