"Dear child," said he, "you have sung the song all your life. If you have thanked God for his goodness to you—if you have loved him for his love to you—if you have prayed to him to make you good and holy—you have sung the Song of the Mountain."
"Praise to thee! Praise to thee!" murmured the old woman. Then she thought she heard the whole mountain singing as it did the morning she listened to it; and the great song was sung, and she sang also, and the voice beside her sang.
——The people who lived about there say, that when they came in the morning to see Old Effie, she was sitting in her arm-chair, with her hands folded, and her lips half parted as if she had sung herself to sleep; and when they touched her she did not move—for Old Effie was dead.
