I should open my mouth wide, if I could only be in her place.
Alas! the years proved that, much as I loved the hymns, there was
no music in me to give them voice, except to very indulgent ears.

Some of us must wait for the best human gifts until we come to
heavenly places. Our natural desire for musical utterance is
perhaps a prophecy that in a perfect world we shall all know how
to sing. But it is something to feel music, if we cannot make it.
That, in itself, is a kind of unconscious singing.

As I think back to my childhood, it seems to me as if the air was
full of hymns, as it was of the fragrance of clover-blossoms, and
the songs of bluebirds and robins, and the deep undertone of the
sea. And the purity, the calmness, and the coolness of the dear
old Sabbath days seems lingering yet in the words of those
familiar hymns, whenever I bear them sung. Their melody
penetrates deep into my life, assuming me that I have not left
the green pastures and the still waters of my childhood very far
behind me.

There is something at the heart of a true song or hymn which
keeps the heart young that listens. It is like a breeze from the
eternal hills; like the west wind of spring, never by a breath
less balmy and clear for having poured life into the old
generations of earth for thousands of years; a spiritual
freshness, which has nothing to do with time or decay.

IV.

NAUGHTY CHILDREN AND FAIRY TALES.