"Your people—ah—were they much impressed With my sermon?" he queried. "Preaching with earnestness, power and force Has left me sadly wearied."
"A worse would a done us country folks"— The farmer's tone a terse one— "That is," reflectively, "if you Happened to have a worse one."
JESSIE.
You miss the touch of her dear hand, Her laughter gay and sweet, The dimpled cheek, the sunny smile, The patter of her feet.
The loving glances she bestowed, The tender tales she told— The world, since she has gone away, Seems empty, drear and cold.
Dear, oft you prayed that God would give Your darling joy and grace, That pain or loss might never dim The brightness of her face.
That her young heart might keep its trust, Its purity so white, Its wealth of sweet unselfishness, Her eyes their radiant light,
Her fair, soft face its innocence Of every guile and wrong, And nothing touch to mar the joy And gladness of her song.