“And the chorus was strong, clear and almost exultant. After repeating the Lord’s Prayer, the minister read the service and we went to the grave. On the way my friend told me of the many times he had been present at this same little family service in the Michigan home when each sang his verse in the old hymn. ‘The last verse was father’s, and after his death they all sang it for him, and now the little granddaughter had picked up the broken thread of song for her sweet young auntie.’ ‘What a wonderful glorification of a poor little hymn!’ “‘Truly so,’ he agreed. ‘I never before had much respect for that piece.’” The faith and loyalty of a noble Christian were remembered when his daughter Played Her Father’s Favorite Hymn at a Memorial Service This service conducted by the North Dakota Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church for Judge Charles S. Pollock was impressively beautiful. Held for a layman, it yet followed the ordination of young men for the ministry. Judge Pollock, a faithful follower of Jesus Christ and a courageous advocate of civic righteousness, had dutifully carried heavy responsibilities at the session of the General Conference in May, 1928, and not long thereafter was summoned into the courts of heaven. On that autumn day at this service the judge’s daughter played on the organ her father’s favorite hymn: “O Master, let me walk with Thee In lowly paths of service free; Tell me Thy secret; help me bear The strain of toil, the fret of care. . . . . . . . . . In hope that sends a shining ray Far down the future’s broadening way; In peace that only Thou canst give, With Thee, O Master, let me live.” The assurance of reunion was well advertised by Songs at a Missionary’s Grave The great missionary, James Gilmour, of Mongolia, lost his beloved wife at Peking. In a letter to his children’s uncle in Scotland, to whom Mr. Gilmour had decided to entrust the two boys after their mother’s death, he wrote: “Oh, it is hard to think of them going off over the world in that motherless fashion! We were at mamma’s grave yesterday for the first time since September 21. We sang ‘There’s a Land That Is Fairer Than Day,’ in Chinese, and also a Chinese hymn we have here with a chorus, which says, ‘We’ll soon go and see them in our heavenly home,’ and in English, ‘There is a happy land.’ The children and I have no reluctance in speaking of mamma, and we don’t think of her as here or buried, but as in a fine place, happy and well.” As the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse approached the end of his great career as minister and author he said to a brother minister concerning his funeral service: “There must be no mourning, no tears, no misery, no gloom. I go not into the gloom but into the dawn. Start the service with ‘Praise God.’ Take all the stops out of the organ and let everybody thunder it out.” Thus it was that there were sung the