"Are you tired out, dear?"
"Not at all," I said. "Not at all - tired."
"They'd give their eyes if you'd sing again. It's better than
doctors and anodynes; and it's the first bit of anything
unearthly we've had in this place. Will you try?"
I was only too glad. I sang, "Jesus, lover of my soul" - "Rock
of Ages" - and then, "Just as I am, without one plea,
"But that Thy blood was shed for me,
"And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
"O Lamb of God, I come."
And stillness, deep and peaceful seeming, brooded over all the
place in the pauses between the singing. There were restless
and weary and suffering people around me; patient indeed too,
and uncomplaining, in the worst of times; but now even sighs
seemed to be hushed. I looked at the man who was said to be
dying. His wide open eyes were intently fixed upon me; very
intently; and I thought, less ruefully than a while ago. Then
I sang, "Come to Jesus just now -"
As I sang, a voice from the further end of the room took it
up, and bore me company in a somewhat rough but true and manly
chorus, to the end of the singing. It rang sweet round the
room; it fell sweet on many ears, I know. And so I gave my
Lord's message.
I sang no more that night. The poor man for whose sake I had
begun the singing, rapidly grew worse. I could not leave him;
for ever and again, in the pauses of suffering, his eyes
sought mine. I answered the mute appeal as I best could, with
a word now and a word then. Towards morning the struggle
ceased. He spoke no more to me; but the last look was to my
eyes, and in his, it seemed to me, the shadow had cleared
away. That was all I could know.