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.