“I knows we allers tinks of a home as a place where dere is good times, an’ dere don’t seem much good times goin’ for some of us in dis worl’, but dere ain’t no call fer us ter spec’ ter be better off dan our Lord, an ef we’se feedin’ on de Lord Jesus all de time we won’t min’ ef de worl’s bread is scarce; de soul ain’t dependin’ on dem tings fer nourishmen’ an’ de Lord Jesus makes de hard bed easy an’ de coarse food taste good.

“‘Tain’t good management fer us ter be allers groanin’ in dis worl’ while we ‘spect ter be singin’ de glory song up yonder.  De best singers is dem dat’s longes’ trainin’ an’ I’se feared some of us’ll find it drefful hard ter git up ter de proper concert pitch in heaven ef we sings nuthin but lamentashuns on earth.  De dear Lord don’t seem ter hev made any sort of pervishun for fault findin’.  He ’low dere’ll be trubble, but he tells us ter be of good cheer on account of hevin’ him ter git de victry fer us, an’ ef we keep singin’ all de time, dere ain’t no time fer sighs.  Let us keep a-whisperin’ to our Father, my friens.  It’s a beautiful worl’ he’s put us in, an’ dere ain’t no combine ter keep us back from enjoyin’ de best tings in it.  De sky belong ter us ez much as to de rich folks, an’ de grass an’ de trees an’ de birds an’ de flowers; de rollin rivers an’ de mighty ocean belongs ter us.  De only priviluge de rich folks hez is dat dey kin sail on deir billows while we hez ter stan’ alongside,—­but dey’s powerfu’ unhappy sometimes when dey hez so much ter look after, an’ we kin enjoy lookin’ at deir fine houses widout hevin’ any of de care.

“We’se not payin’ much complimen’ ter Jesus, friens, when we ’low dat de good tings of dis worl’ kin make people happier dan he kin, an’ ’pears like we ought ter be ’shamed of ourselves.  De Bible sez we’se ter ’live an’ move an’ hev our bein’ in God,’ an’ it don’t ‘pear becomin’ when we hev such a home pervided fer us, ter be allers grumblin’ ’cause we can’t live in de brown stone fronts an’ keep a kerridge.  We don’t begin ter understan’ how ter live up ter our privilegus, friens, an’ I’se bowed in shame as I tink how de dear Lord’s heart must ache as he sees how little we’se appresheatin’ his lovin’ kindness.”

The tender, pleading voice ceased and then Dyce lifted her clasped hands,—­“Oh, Lord Jesus, help us ter glorify thee before de worl’.  Help us ter understan’ an ’preciate de wonderful honor thou hez put upon us.  Make us used ter dwellin’ wid thee on de earth, so as we won’t feel like strangers in heaven.  Oh, blessed Jesus, by de remembrance of de thorn marks an’ de nail prints an’ de woun’ in thy side forgive thy ungrateful chillen.  We’se ben a’ lookin’ roun on de perishin’ tings of earth fer our comfort, an’ a’ seekin’ our homes in this worl’.  Lord, help us ter find our real home in thee!  Help us ter steal away ter Jesus, when de storm cloud hangs low and de billows roar about our heads.  Dere’s no shadows in de home thou makes, fer ’de light of de worl’ is Jesus,’ an’ ebery room is full of de sunshine of thy love.  Dere’s no harm kin cum to us ef we’se inside de fold, fer thou art de door, Lord Jesus; dere’s no danger kin touch us ef we’se hidden in de cleft of de rock.  Lord, make us abide in de secret place of de Almighty an’ hoi’ us close forever under de shadow of thy wing.”