"I remember," said Ella, at length, in a low voice, "when I was at a town called Innsbruck, in the midst of beautiful mountains, hearing the nuns chant a hymn, which I caught up by ear; and the poor old man and I turned it, as best we might, into English, and used often in our wanderings to console ourselves with singing it, when little else had we to console us. It comes into my mind to-night more than ever." "Let me hear it, then, Ella," said Richard of Woodville; "I love all music." "I will sing it," replied Ella; "but you must not hear it only. You must join in heart, if not in voice." HYMN. Oh glorious! oh mighty! Lord God of salvation! Thy name let us praise from the depth of the heart; Let tongue sing to tongue, and nation to nation, And in the glad hymn, all thy works bear a part. The tops of the mountains with praises are ringing, The depths of the valleys re-echo the cry; The waves of the ocean Thy glories are singing, The clouds and the winds find a voice as they fly; The weakest, the strongest, the lowly, the glorious, The living on earth, and the dead in the grave! For the arm of thy Son over death is victorious, With power to redeem, and with mercy to save. Oh glorious! oh mighty! Lord God of salvation! To Thee let us sing from the depth of the heart; Let tongue tell to tongue, and nation to nation, How bountiful, gracious, and holy Thou art. CHAPTER XIX. THE FOREIGN LAND.