In a quavery voice he sang many times over the grand old hymn:
"I will sing you a song of that beautiful land,
The far away home of the soul,
Where no storms ever beat on that glittering strand,
While the years of eternity roll.
Oh, that home of the soul in my visions and dreams,
Its bright, jasper walls I can see,
Till I fancy but thinly the vail intervenes
Between that fair city and me!
That unchangeable home is for you and for me,
Oh, how sweet it will be in that beautiful land,
So free from all sorrow and pain,
With songs on our lips and with harps in our hands,
To meet one another again!"
"That must be the place, grandpa, for it says Jesus is there, and that we'll meet one another again."
"Yes, yes, child, it's the place, I'm mighty sure of that, and I'm so glad we're a-goin' to find it. I'll like it so much better than the city. I wonder I ain't gone before."
The two sang and talked till the twilight began to fall, then they heard Mrs. Gray shuffling up the stairs.
"Now don't fergit and tell, Rosa," hurriedly whispered grandpa.