"Well, but you don't know how happy you've made me!" said Paula as she fairly danced out of the house with me to tell the news to Celestina.
"Well," said Celestina, "all I can say is that the Lord heard my prayers and yours, dear Paula. It's the great weapon of the weak and needy, and in fact can be the power to serve all and anyone who will surrender themselves and all they are into the hands of the Saviour."
We had seated ourselves near the door of her little cottage. Something in the deep tones of the old lady's voice seemed to search my very heart. We always enjoyed listening to this old saint who, like Enoch and Noah, walked with God. We seemed to be drawn closer to God in her humble little cottage than in any other place.
"You see," she continued, "I'm old and quite feeble, and besides I'm poor, and can't do very much for other folks; but there's one thing I can do, and that is, pray. And I do pray for everybody—and especially for you and your family, my dear young friends. God doesn't let me see many results of my prayers, but that doesn't discourage me. I just keep everlastingly at it, and I can leave the results to Him. Has He not said, through the mouth of His Apostle John, 'This is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He heareth us, and if we know that He hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of Him.'
"I remember once hearing a certain hymn about prayer. I never could remember all the verses, but most of it has remained deeply engraved in my memory although I only heard it once. It was sung by a young missionary from Africa who happened to be passing through Paris. It was at a meeting which I attended as a young girl many years ago."
"Please sing it to us, dear Celestina," said Paula, "even though you may not remember it all."
"Well, my dear young friends," said Celestina, "that old hymn has been my comfort and the inspiration of my prayers through all the years since I heard it sung so long ago in Paris where I lived when I was young. Here it is"; and as those quavering notes sounded we seemed lifted toward that heavenly Throne of which she sang.
On heavenly heights an Angel stands.
He takes our prayer in heavenly hands,
And with celestial incense rare,
He mingles every heart-felt prayer
Of those who trust His precious blood
To reconcile their souls to God.
"Then from that glorious, heavenly place
Descend the lightnings of His grace;
To heal, to strengthen, and provide,
For those who trust in Him Who died.
'Who died,' I say?—Yea, He Who rose
Triumphant, Conqueror of His foes!
"Who is this priestly Angel bright,
Who thus dispels our darkest night?
'Tis He who sets the captive free,
Jesus Who died on Calvary's tree;
Who is, Who was, and is to come—
The glory of His Father's Home!