It was described as a moment of intense emotion. The boy broke down and wept and the father shed tears over him. Finally he sobered himself and said: “Now you come with me. I guess you’re all right enough to be my son again. You can set more type to-morrow.” And he led him away. Truth? Or Romance? I do not know. The final answer to this form of service, however, is in the mission itself. Nightly you may see them rise and hear them testify. One night the speaker, pouring forth a fiery description of God’s power, stopped in the midst of his address and said: “Is that you, Tommy Wilson, up there in the gallery?” “Yes, sir.” “Tommy, I’m glad to see you. Won’t you get up and sing ‘My Lord and I’? I know there isn’t any one here who wouldn’t rather hear you sing than me preach any time. Will you?” “Yes, sir.” Up in the gallery, three rows back, there arose a shabby little man, his dusty suit showing the well-worn marks of age. He was clean and docile, however, and seemed to be some one whom the mission had reclaimed in times past. In fact, the speaker made it clear that Tommy was a great card, for out of the gutter he had come to contribute a beautiful voice to the mission, a voice that was now missing because he had a job in a faraway part of the city. Tommy sang. He put his hands in his coat pockets, stood perfectly erect, and with his head thrown back gave vent to such a sweet, clear melody that it moved every heart. It was not a strong voice, not showy, but pure and lovely, like a limpid stream. The song he sang was this: I have a Friend so precious, So very dear to me; He loves me with such tender love, He loves me faithfully. I could not live apart from Him, I love to feel Him nigh; And so we dwell together, My Lord and I. Sometimes I’m faint and weary, He knows that I am weak, And as He bids me lean on Him His help I gladly seek; He leads me in the paths of light, Beneath a sunny sky; And so we walk together, My Lord and I. I tell Him all my sorrows, I tell Him all my joys, I tell Him all that pleases me, I tell Him what annoys; He tells me what I ought to do, He tells me how to try; And so we walk together, My Lord and I. He knows how I’m longing Some weary soul to win, And so He bids me go and speak The loving word for Him; He bids me tell His wondrous love, And why He came to die; And so we work together My Lord and I.