The melodious voice of young Rebekah was now heard in another apartment, warbling one of her sweetest songs.

“Jehovah bless the child!” cried the grandmother.  “How that voice of melody cheers my heart!”

“Mother!” quickly replied Monroah.  “Permit me to call her into this apartment, where she may sing and play thy favorite ‘song of Judah.’”

“Thou art ever kind to thy mother, dear Monroah; do as thou desirest.”

Rebekah was called.

“Will my daughter sing and play for us her grandmother’s favorite ’song of Judah’?”

“With pleasure, mother,” cried Rebekah, as she quickly left the apartment.

In a moment she returned, bearing in her arms a stringed instrument with which the reader is somewhat familiar, and proceeded with the following appropriate song: 

“When we our weary limbs to rest
Sat down by proud Euphrates’ stream,
We wept, with doleful thoughts oppressed,
And Zion was our mournful theme.

“Our harps, that when with joy we sung
Were wont their tuneful parts to bear,
With silent strings neglected hung
On willow trees that withered there.

“Oh, Salem! once our happy seat,
When I of thee forgetful prove,
Then let my trembling hand forget
These speaking strings with art to move!

“Again we hail the sacred hall,
That echoed to our youthful lays! 
And Amonober’s children all
Have reached their home to end their days.

“To thee, Almighty King of kings,
In new-made hymns my voice I’ll raise,
And instruments of many strings
Shall help me to adore and praise.

“How sweet to die in Judah’s dale,
And with the fathers calmly rest;
The thought of sleeping in yon vale,
How soothing to my throbbing breast!

“A few more days of grief and pain,
And then adieu to every gloom,
For soon we all shall meet again,
Beyond the portals of the tomb.”

The old harp of Judah has also returned from the captivity, and is once more safely lodged in its own native Jerusalem, whence Esrom bore it to the land of strangers a century before.

Time has left some impression on its aged frame, but its tones are sweeter than ever.  In that family it is held as a priceless treasure; and its melody shall sweetly fall on ears yet unborn, when the hands that now so skillfully sweep its well-tuned strings shall be palsied, and the sweet voices that blend with its thrilling chords shall be silent in the grave.