Yes, my Father cares for you,
Little birds amid the blue;
Praise Him, and I praise Him, too.
You know little of His care;
I, who feel Him everywhere,
Voice my love in praise and prayer.
You a little while may sing:
I will love and praise my King,
Yonder, in unending spring.
There was no one in sight, and Margaret’s sweet, clear voice rose and fell as she pleased. Presently she was too happy even to sing, for God seemed so near to her, and all things so glad that her eyes grew dim for very sympathy with the world. A little aside from the path, and near a gate, was a beautiful ash-tree, whose roots provided a comfortable seat, and she sat down to rest, and was presently lost in thought. Some one was approaching, but she did not see or hear him until he was almost close to her. Then she arose and turned, her face lighted with the thought that had been last in her mind, and confronted John Dallington.