Nearer to thee,
E’en though it be a cross
That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee!”
“That is as good as a recitation,” I said. “How very distinctly Angie speaks her words.”
“Yes,” said the proud mother; “she prides herself on being heard. She says she would never have any pleasure in singing Italian songs; that she would want the words as well as the music to be uplifting. Angie prefers sacred music, I think; her heart seems to echo the sentiment of the words. What she is practicing now is to be sung to-morrow morning, just before the sermon. Our pastor requested it. This is a new arrangement, with solo and quartette, and Angie takes the solo. If the other parts are as beautiful as the soprano, I think it will be lovely. Angie dear, isn’t it time you were going?”
“In a minute, mamma; I want to try this minor strain first.” The sweet, tender sounds filled the room:
“Though like a wanderer,