THE MINISTRY OF SONG.
SING to the little children,
And they will listen well;
Sing grand and holy music,
For they can feel its spell.
Tell them the tale of Jesus,
Then sing them what he said,
"Deeper and deeper still," and watch
How the little cheeks grow red,
And the little breath comes quicker;
They will ne'er forget the tale,
Which the song has fastened surely,
As with a golden nail.
I remember late one evening,
How the music stopped; for, hark!
Charlie's nursery door was open,
He was calling in the dark:
"Oh, no, I am not frightened,
And I do not want a light;
But I cannot sleep for thinking
Of the song you sang last night;
Something about a 'valley,'
And 'make rough places plain,'
And 'comfort ye;' so beautiful!
Oh, sing it me again!"
Sing at the cottage bedside;
They have no music there,
And the voice of praise is silent
After the voice of prayer.
Sing of the gentle Saviour,
In the simplest hymns you know,
And the pain-dimmed eye will brighten
As the soothing verses flow;
Better than loudest plaudits
The murmured thanks of such,
For the King will stop to crown them
With the gracious "Inasmuch."
Sing when the full-toned organ
Resounds through aisle and nave,
And the choral praise ascendeth
In concord sweet and grave.
Sing, where the village voices
Fall harshly on your ear;
And while more earnestly you join,
Less discord will you hear.
The noblest and the humblest
Alike are "common praise,"
And not for human ear alone,
The psalm and hymn we raise.
Sing in the deepening twilight,
When the shadow of eve is nigh,
And her purple and golden pinions
Fold o'er the western sky.
Sing in the silver silence
While the first moonbeams fall,
So shall your power be greater
Over the hearts of all.
Sing till you bear them with you
Into a holy calm,
And the sacred tones have scattered
Manna, and myrrh, and balm.