Favorite Songs and Hymns For School and Home, page: 0276

450 Of The World's Best Songs And Hymns, With Lyrics & Sheet music for voice & piano.

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The Dark Angel of Death was standing outside the musician's door, for little Anita, Maestro Nar-ditti's child, was fading away; no tears, no prayers, could avail, not even Carissima's lovely voice. Ca-rissima's voice was hushed; the Maestro had no heart to take up his dearly-loved violin and play to soothe his sorrow, as he had done many years ago when his wife died and left this little one behind. Heaven had given him the divine gift of genius and had bidden him call aloud to the world. So Caris-sima and he had played aloud together through
sickness, through sorrow and raccess, and through all the changing scenes of life they had been faith­ful friends. They had just come back from the crowded hall; the people said that never before had the Maestro played so beautifully, and that never be­fore had the violin's voice sounded so mournful and pathetic. Well, you see, they did not know the reason, but we do; for both were thinking of the little dying girl, and how could their thoughts be anything but sorrowful, or the outward expression of those thoughts be anything but mournful ? The father was
THE TIME OF THE SINGING OF BIRDS.
George Barker.
weeping by his child's bedside. But she said, " Do not weep, sing to me—sing me to sleep, for I am so weary, dear father, and the evening has been so long without thee." Then he rose and he played to her, and she closed her eyes and listened happily to Ca­rissima's voice. It sang a song without words—the music alone told the tale—of a pure young life, too pure for earth, and therefore to be taken away to that fair land where only the good and pure and true dwell. Yet it was hard to leave the earth, harder still to leave the dear ones behind, and to know that
they would be desolate; and here the violin's voice sobbed and trembled as if from sorrow, and the melody came sadder and softer, as describing the very parting which was soon to take place; then the lingering notes died away, and the Maestro's hand was still. " Is that all?" murmured the child; "oh, play again." Once more, and the air resounded with a psalm of triumph—the same melody, but no longer soft or sad, for the gates of that Fair Land were opened wide, and amidst this jubilant strain the child had passed away with the Angel of Death.—Belgravia.
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