That picture — those
evenings — come back to me, with a kind of hallowed perfume of
truth and hope. Truth, it was in my lips and on my heart; I
was giving it out to those who had it not. And hope, — it was
in more hearts than mine, no doubt; but in mine it beat with
as steady a beat as the tickings of my little watch by my
side, and breathed sweet as the flowers that start in spring
from under the snow. I had often a large circle; and it was
part of my plan, and well carried into execution, that these
evenings of reading should supply also the place of the
missing prayer-meeting. Gradually I drew it on to be so
understood; and then my pieces of reading were scattered along
between the prayers, or sometimes all came at first, followed
by two or three earnest longer prayers from some of those that
were present. And then, without any planning of mine, came in
the singing. Not too much, lest as Maria said, we should "make
de folks up stairs t'ink dere war somethin' oncommon in de
kitchen;" but one or two hymns we would have, so full of
spirit and sweetness that often now-a-days they come back to
me, and I would give very much to hear the like again.
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