“The mother’s face grew rapt and white. I held her hands and watched her eyes. Suddenly she threw my hands off and knelt at Parepa’s feet, close to the wooden trestles. She locked her fingers together, tears and sobs breaking forth. She prayed aloud that God would bless the angel singing for Annie. A patient smile settled about her lips, and the light came back into her poor, dulled eyes, and she kissed her daughter’s face with a love beyond all interpretation of human speech. I led her back to her seat as the last glorious notes of Parepa’s voice rose triumphant over all earthly pain and sorrow. “And I thought that no queen ever went to her grave with a greater ceremony than this young daughter of poverty and toil, committed to the care of angels.” An unusual funeral service was held when, instead of the family sitting in silence, Each Member of the Family Sang a Verse The description must be quoted in full as it appeared in _The Christian Advocate_: “When I was in Rome a friend came to me asking if I would be a pallbearer at the funeral of a young American girl. Her family wished only Americans present at the little service. I went to the room where the casket stood and presently the family entered—a noble lady, evidently the mother, a daughter and two sons, the eldest leading a little girl. They surrounded the casket and softly repeated the Apostles’ Creed. Then the mother’s voice, uncertain and trembling, began: “‘Shall we gather at the river Where bright angel feet have trod, With its crystal tide forever Flowing by the throne of God?’ “All joined her in the chorus. Then the eldest son, a grown man, sang: ‘On the margin of the river, Washing up its silver spray, We will walk and worship ever, All the happy golden day.’ “After the chorus there was silence—a choking silence that benumbed me. Then my friend whispered, ‘It is their family prayer service and it is her verse.’ Then the little girl was lifted in her father’s arms, and sweet and clear and wonderingly came: ‘Ere we reach the shining river Lay we every burden down, Grace our spirits will deliver And provide a robe and crown.’ “I do not know how I endured it, the emotion of that moment. In a broken manner they sobbed through the chorus and then the younger brother, a lad of fourteen, sang: ‘At the smiling of the river, Mirror of the Saviour’s face Saints whom death will never sever Lift their songs of saving grace.’ “His voice was so confident that it steadied all present and the chorus rang out clearly. Then all together they sang: ‘Soon we’ll reach the silver river, Soon our pilgrimage will cease, Soon our happy hearts will quiver With the melody of peace.’