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Page 3
"Clarissa," said the child, presently, "will you repeat the old song of
Paradise to me?"
Clarissa laid aside her work.
"We will sing it together again some day, dear child, when you are
strong enough; now I will say it to you if you wish" and she folded her
hands and began:--
"A stream of water, crystal bright,
Flows down through meadows green,
Where lilies, shining in the light,
Like twinkling starlets gleam.
"And roses blow, and roses glow,
While birds in every tree
Are singing loud, are singing low,
'In Paradise are we.'
"Here, gently blows the soft, sweet wind;
Bright flowers grow all around;
Men wake, as from a dream, to find
They tread on holy ground.
"In blissful happiness they rove,
At peace with each and all;
United now in bonds of love,
Freed from the grave's dark pall.
"All want and weariness are o'er,
All sorrow and all pain;
Their rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again."
After Clarissa had finished her recitation, no sound broke the stillness
for a long time; Nora seemed lost in thought. "Clarissa," she said at
last, "that is a beautiful poem, and makes me long to go."
"Yes; go willingly, go gladly, dear child," replied Clarissa, with tears
in her eyes. "Then you can wander joyfully among the bright flowers, and
sing:
"'Our rapture gathers more and more;
The sick are well again.'
"And we shall soon join you there, your mamma and I--"
At this moment the mother entered, and Clarissa stopped suddenly; for
she knew well that Mrs. Stanhope could not endure the thought of losing
little Nora, even though her child were called to heaven; but the mother
had heard enough of what had been said, and looked at the child with
renewed anxiety. Nora certainly looked very pale and weary; and, at her
mother's request, she let herself be carried at once to bed in
Clarissa's strong and tender arms.
Later in the evening when Mrs. Stanhope sat alone with her old friend,
she began anxiously to question the suitableness of talking to the child
upon such topics.
"Surely there is no need of dwelling on such mournful things, Clarissa.
Nora is not so ill that we need think the worst, much less talk about
it."
"Nora likes to hear me repeat her favorite poem," replied Clarissa;
"and, dear Mrs. Stanhope, let me say one thing to you. If our darling is
to live only to suffer through long years of pain, can you wish for life
for her? Why should we wish to keep her here, where she cannot enjoy the
smallest part of the wealth and beauty about her, rather than let her go
to that heavenly home, where there is no more sorrow nor pain?"
"I cannot bear the thought of parting from her; it must not, it cannot
be. Why may not all yet go well, and Nora get strong again?" said the
poor mother; and the heart within her was heavy with grief. She could
say no more, and withdrew in silence to her own room.
The great stone mansion was soon wrapped in stillness; and as the light
of the summer moon shone down upon it, whoever had seen it standing
there in stately beauty, its high white pillars gleaming through the
dark trees, would surely have thought:
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