During the night, a thunderstorm of short duration passed over the
mountain. The spring morning broke very beautifully, as it can only
after a storm. On the grass hung large pearls, and the leaves of the
trees were full of diamonds as the sun shone on them. Everything sang
praises to the Creator--every bird, every insect, and fly. The vapor
rose like the smoke from a great sacrifice. No wonder then that Palko,
leading their expedition, began to sing. Petrik gave a sigh, glanced
at the doctor, thinking, "What will he say to that?" Ondrejko joyfully
joined him, with his clear voice ringing like a golden bell. And thus
it sounded over the mountains:

"Let us give thanks to God our heavenly King;
To Him who loved and kept us, let us sing.
To Him be given honor, glory, praise;
To God, Eternal, let our voices raise.
We pray, 'Be constantly with us this day
And guard us from all evil by the way,
That we may to Thy glory ever live,
And blessings to our neighbors ever give;
And when at last we reach the glory shore
We know that we shall praise Thee evermore.'"

The doctor knew that song. He had learned it in his childhood. It made
him add his own voice to those clear notes of the children. It may
seem strange, but it is true, that nothing will refresh the mind like
such an early morning song, sung whole-heartedly on such a beautiful
morning, when all nature is joining in praises to the Creator, and at
every step man feels His holy, pure, and shining nearness.

"Listen, Palko," the doctor said after a moment's silence when the