the year round, and there they rested happily, as we do now, before they went on to their journey’s end,” answered Beth; adding, as she slipped out of her father’s arms, and went slowly to the instrument, “It’s singing time now, and I want to be in my old place. I’ll try to sing the song of the shepherd-boy which the Pilgrims heard. I made the music for father, because he likes the verses.”
So, sitting at the dear little piano, Beth softly touched the keys, and, in the sweet voice they had never thought to hear again, sung to her own accompaniment the quaint hymn, which was a singularly fitting song for her:—
“He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide.
“I am content with what I have, Little be it or much; And, Lord! contentment still I crave, Because Thou savest such.
“Fullness to them a burden is, That go on pilgrimage; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age!”