I thought even Frank was half affected by the sudden cessation of trouble, and the sight of the now broad tranquil river to which we had been a stranger for some time; for after the boat-boys had become hoarse from chanting, his voice was heard in a doleful and sad strain, of which the words were as follows:— “The home land, the fair land, Refuge for all distressed, Where pain and sin ne’er enter in, But all is peace and rest. The home land! I long to meet Those who have gone before; The weeping eyes and weary feet Rest on that happy shore. The home land, the bright land! My eyes are filled with tears, Remembering all the happy band, Passed from my sight for years. When will it dawn upon my soul? When shall I meet that strand? By night and day I watch and pray For thee, dear, blest home land.” I thought the voice trembled as the strain ended; and, lest I should be affected also, by no means a desirable thing, I said cheerily, “Frank, my dear fellow, you will make everybody cry with such tunes as those; they are too lachrymose altogether for our present state. The men are so weak and excited that mournfulness will derange their nerves, and make us all utterly unfit for the work before us. Choose some heroic tune, whose notes will make us all feel afire, and drive our canoes down stream as though we were driven by steam.” “All right, sir,” he replied with a bright, cheerful face, and sang the following:— “Brightly gleams our banner, Pointing to the sky, Waving wanderers onward To their home on high. Journeying o’er the desert Gladly thus we pray, And with hearts united Take our heavenward way.” “Ah, Frank, it is not the heavenward way you mean, is it? I should think you would prefer the homeward way, for that is the way I pray to be permitted to lead you.” “How do you like this, sir?” he asked. “My God, my Father, while I stray, Far from my home, in life’s rough way, O teach me from my heart to say, Thy will be done. “Though dark my path, and sad my lot, Let me be still and murmur not, Or breathe the prayer divinely taught, Thy will be done. “What though in lonely grief I sigh For friends beloved no longer nigh! Submissive would I still reply, Thy will be done.”