I studied like a
machine, and went and came as Miss Pinshon bade me; all the
while brooding by myself and turning over and over in my heart
the furrows of thought, which seemed at first to promise no
harvest. Yet those furrows never break the soil for nothing.
In due time the seed fell; and the fruit of a ripened purpose
came to maturity.
I did not give up my Sunday readings; even although the
numbers of my hearers grew scantier. As many as could, we met
together to read and to pray, yes, and to sing. And I shall
never in this world hear such singing again. One refrain comes
back to me now —
"Oh, had I the wings of the morning —
Oh, had I the wings of the morning —
Oh, had I the wings of the morning —
I'd fly to my Jesus away!"
I used to feel so too, as I listened and sometimes sung with
them.
Meantime, all that I could do with my quarterly ten dollars, I
did. And there was many a little bit of pleasure I could give;
what with a tulip here and a cup of tea there, and a bright
handkerchief, or a pair of shoes.
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