The hour is midnight,--the place an humble home in far off Michigan. Let us enter; nothing hinders, for bolts and bars are here unknown. Step quietly, that we may not disturb the sleeping. Come with me to this bed-chamber; it is indeed dark, but the spirit does not need material light. On this rude bed reposes an aged man with whitened locks and furrowed face, and yonder lies a little child whose tiny feet have yet taken but few steps on life's rude journey. Listen!--she moves--she is not asleep. What has wakened thee, gentle one?--the slumbers of childhood should be undisturbed. She sings--in the silent, lonely night, with sweet low voice she is singing-- "Jesus, Saviour, Son of God, Who for me life's pathway trod; Who for me became a child, Make me humble, meek, and mild. I thy little lamb would be, Jesus, I would follow thee; Samuel was thy child of old, Take me now within thy fold." The old man wakens--she has disturbed him. Shall he stop her?--no; he loves that little one, and he has not the heart to bid her be silent. One after another she pours forth her sweet melodies, till at last her voice grows fainter and fainter, and soon she and her grandfather are both lying again in unbroken repose. The morning comes. The old man calls to him the petted one, and says: "Lucy, why did you sing last night when you should have been asleep? What were you singing?" Stopping her play she looks up and says brightly--"I was singing to Jesus, grandpa, and you ought to sing to him, too." Why does he start and tremble, that stern, gray-headed man? He has lived more than sixty years an unbeliever--a despiser of the lowly Savior. No thought of repentance or remorse has afflicted him--no desire has he ever had to hear the words of eternal life. He has trained up his family in ignorance of God, and only in _his memory_ has the blessed Sabbath had a name since he went to his distant western home. Not long ago a benevolent man passing through the town, gathered some of the ragged and forsaken little ones into a Sabbath-school, and bestowed on them the inestimable gift of a few small books. The little Lucy heard from her young companions the wonderful story, and begged to go. But she was sternly refused. He wanted nothing with the Sabbath-school. She could not be pacified, however, and at length with prayers and tears she was permitted to prevail. She went, and returned with her Testament and little hymn-book, and with such joy and glee, that even her grandfather came to think the Sabbath-school an excellent thing. Of that blessed school he is now a member, and is weekly found studying the word of God, as humbly and diligently as a little child. The infidel of sixty years is a penitent follower of that Jesus to whom little Lucy sung her midnight song, and who out of the mouths of babes often perfects his praise.