"Yes, dearie, I wish so too, but I think we'll find it anyhow. I'm
a-gittin' so very homesick, we jest must."

"Sing about that land, won't you, grandpa?"

"All right, you git the fiddle. That's the only song I can remember.
They used to sing it in the little white meetin' house with the steeple
a-p'intin' straight up. Wish I could remember more, but I can't."

In a quavery voice he sang many times over the grand old hymn:

"I will sing you a song of that beautiful land,
The far away home of the soul,
Where no storms ever beat on that glittering strand,
While the years of eternity roll.

Oh, that home of the soul in my visions and dreams,
Its bright, jasper walls I can see,
Till I fancy but thinly the vail intervenes
Between that fair city and me!

That unchangeable home is for you and for me,
Where Jesus of Nazareth stands;
The King of all kingdoms forever is He,
And He holdeth our crowns in His hands.

Oh, how sweet it will be in that beautiful land,
So free from all sorrow and pain,
With songs on our lips and with harps in our hands,
To meet one another again!"