Columbia College - Columbian Yearbook (Columbia, SC)

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up in the mountains that I first saw her. I was sitting opposite her at a little veslrer service they hadout on the mountain side late one afternoon. I looked at her. and somehow I was strangely impressed with the Feeling that she couldlsing. Iler very l'aee had music in it. 'Ii was anxious for the time to come to sing a hvmn so I could hear her. When the hvmn was announced-I remember just as well what it was. that one about 4'ln the Iliour ol' Trial -liei' Face lighted up, and I saw she was going to sing. 'I'heu all ol' a sudden a change came over her and a look almost ol' agony crossed her il'ace. She dropped her head in her hands and remained so until the end ol' the song. She did not sing a single note. It puzzled me. Somehow I wanted to Iind out about that girl more than anything I ever wanted before. Once more during a song I saw her act the same way. and every time I could I watched her, and she never sang a note that I heard all during the t'onl'erence. Well, luek was mv way. 'I'he very last day she got sick, and, as I was the t'onl'erem'e dot-tor. I was called in. I know I was a fool to do it, but I couldn't help it. Belore I lel't I asked her il' she ever sang. She looked startled, and the same expression came over her face AI' had seen that day on the hillside. She lay quiet a l'ew moments. Then looking suddenly up at me, she said :I 6' tl believe I can trust youf' With that she began telling me a story. 'I have a good voieef she saidg 'several tine judges of voice tell nie that I eould make good on the operatic stage. It is the thing I want to do most in this world. I love to sing, oh, I just love it almost more than life! But-just when I had made up my mind and was preparing myselt' tor it,' she paused a moment, 'I was stopped. 'l'he hand of God was upon me. I had been planning my life for my own sellish pleasure. He called me away from my choice to do IjIis will-to go as a loreign missionary. I rebelled. The struggle was awful. It may seem a little thing to others, but to me it is everything. My best nature Wong I am going to do the will of mv Master,-her voice broke, then she went on. 'But I cannot use my voice any more. Even the hymns they sing here I want to sing with them so, but I must not.' Her 'Iaee was so sad and sorrowful, I attempted to reason with her. 't 'But that is no reason why you should not sing at all now,' I said. 'God has given you your voice, and, while I-Ie doesn't want you to use it seltishly, IIC does not care--nay, I-Ie even wants you to use it for I-Iis glory., f'She shook her head sadly. :I tried to reason that way, too. But it was no use. As soon as I used my voice in sacred music in sa great church one day, and the people pressed around so afterward in praise of me, I was overwhelmed. I could not bear the thought of losing the great opportunities of fame my voice held out. Applause enthralled me. I forgot my purpose and even went so far as to go back to my teacher and take several more lessons in preparation for the stage. But I was stopped again before I had gone too far. I see now that there is only one way. 92

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I must never use my voice. I must forget that I have one. Don't you see it is the only way? I know I will conquer myself after awhile, and I can be happy. I know I will. I can give up all things, even the whole world for my Iiordf her voice rang out triumphantly, then faltered, 'hut it is hard-right-now.' Honest, old man Alec, fl' don't think it is altogether unmanly to let the tears come sometimes. 'CAifter that 'I' traveled far and wide and saw many strange lands and men and women. At times the girlts face, as she looked when she said those last words. would come hack to me. I did not expect to ever see her again, however. Then, one day, years afterward, away out in the interior ot China, I happened in at a Christian service in a little chapel. I watched the two missionary ladies as they came in. I was suddenly struck hy something oddly familiar ahout one ol' them. I watched her, puzzled, throughout the service until they hegau to sing. Then I noticed an odd expression cross her face--a taint hut real repetition ol' an expression I had seen long ago on a girlish lace. It was no longer a look ol' real, pain, however, hut only a vague, unsatisfied longing. 'fAiliter service l went up and spoke to her. She recognized me at once and remembered our eonversation. 'fl have never ffzcitc contjuered,, she contessed. fhut I. will some day. l am very happy in my work and would not have it otherwise l'or anything. and it is just only wfien they sing,-she hroke oil? suddenly. IVe talked on other suhjects awhile, and then l lel't her. That afternoon l, was called into the very worst part ol' the city to visit a sick child. 'l'he hovel was indescrihahle, so da1'k and lilthy it was. 'l'he little hrown hahy was hurning with QliCVGl'. The 'frantic mother held her in her alms and would not let her go. I tried, hut it seemed l could do nothing I'or the child. She cried unceasingly. and l could not quiet either the hahy or the mother. l had almost lost hope aml was ahout to leave in despair. when suddenly my l'riend stepped in at the door. She seeined to know just what she was ahout. Soon she had duicted the mother, hut it seemed that even she could not calm the child. Suddenly a thought struck the missionary. She took the crying hahy in her arms. She tlashed me a strange look. almost trimphant it seemed to me. and then ,l realized what she w'as going to do. Yes. she sang! l shall never again hear notes so sweet. lt was a simple lullahy. sung in her own tongue: 'See th' shadows 'gin to creep. Shel yo' eyes and go lo sleepf f'She went on through the whole song. hut the very lirst notes seemed to allect the child. .X l'ew hroken sohs. and she lay quiet. listening. The song was linished. aml another. and still another was sung. l looked at the child. She slept. 'l'he poor mother crouched. dumhly thankl'ul. at the singer's ,l'eet. The missionaiy leaned toward me. her lace radiantly happy. 93

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