THE CHEERFUL GIVER. 97

The harp-strings ran a thrilling strain and broke, And that young mother lay upon the earth In childless agony.

Again the voice That stirr'd her vision.

" He who asked of thee, Loveth a cheerful giver."

So she rais'd

Her gushing eye, and, ere the tear-drop dried Upon its fringes, smiled.

Doubt not that smile, Like Abraham's faith, was counted righteousness.

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