"Perreeza greatly fears that it will disturb thee."

"Nay, my sweet child, thy Uncle Esrom was never yet disturbed by the
sound of melody. Sing to me that little song thy aunt so dearly loved."

"Oh, my dear uncle," whispered the weeping Perreeza, "I fear it is beyond
my power to sing. I am filled with weeping. Yet, at thy request, I will
make the effort. Oh, God of my fathers, help me!"

"He will, my child," faintly answered the old Israelite; "get thy harp
and sing."

Once again the old harp was brought from its corner. Perreeza wiped away
her tears, and succeeded in conquering her emotions. She took the
familiar instrument in her arms, and sat at a little distance from the
dying man. Joram cast one look on the old harp, smiled, and gently closed
his eyes. Perreeza softly touched the chords and sang:

"Father, send Thy heavenly chariot,
Call Thy weeping child away;
Long I've waited for Thy coming,
Why, O why, this long delay?
Of this earth my soul is weary,
Yonder lies the better land;
Fain my soul would leave its prison,
Glad to join the glorious band.

"Thrice ten thousand happy spirits
Sing Thy praise in heaven above;