I do not know why, but at the
sight of the wrinkled face and the sound of the plaintive uplifted
voice, singing such words, a sudden mist of tears came over my
eyes. Then I saw that close behind the old dame there stood a very
young and beautiful man. I could see the fresh curling hair thrown
back from the clear brow. He was clothed in a dim robe, of an
opalescent hue and misty texture, and his hands were clasped
together. It seemed that he sang too; but his eyes were bent upon
the old woman with a look, half of tender amusement, and half of
unutterable lovingness. The angelic host! This was one of that
bright company indeed, going about the Father's business, bringing
a joyful peace into the hearts of those among whom he moved. And of
all the worshippers in that crowded church he had singled out the
humblest and simplest for his friend and sister. I saw no more that
day, for the lines of that presence faded out upon the air in the
gleams of the frosty sunshine that came and went among the pillars.
But if I could have painted the scene, the pure, untroubled face so
close to the old worn features, the robes of light side by side
with the dingy human vesture, it would be a picture that no living
eye that had rested on it should forget.
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