“Nothing on earth I call my own; A stranger to the world unknown, I all their goods despise; I trample on their whole delight, And seek a country out of sight, A country in the skies. “There is my house and portion fair; My treasure and my heart are there, And my abiding home; For me my elder brethren stay, And angels beckon me away, And Jesus bids me come.” There was another verse we all cherished, and often sung it, as it seemed so appropriate: “A tent or a cottage, why should I care? They’re building a palace for me over there; Though exiled from home, yet still I may sing, ‘All glory to God, I’m the child of a King.’” In all my travels throughout the Church I have never found any conference that could sing as the West Virginians did. Diddle, Harper, Graham, Orr, Hitt, Holden, and Wood were among the earlier men. Later their places were taken by Cunningham, Piggott, Sallaz, Slaughter, Carder, and Robinson. But it is hardly fair to name a few. All could sing; and so they can to-day. Singing was an inspiring feature of every conference gathering. It made the air electric, and caused high voltage pressure. We would sing on the train, on the boat, at the hotel—everywhere. On our way from conference, in 1879, we all stopped at a hotel in Weston for dinner. As usual, the singers were lined up in a little while, and fairly shook the old inn with some of their latest and freshest selections. Before we quit, the town was thoroughly stirred up. People left their business places and came to listen. Women and children stood in the doors of their homes, or looked out at the windows, and wondered what it all meant. Two young men, some blocks away, heard the singing and started on a run for the hotel. As they passed some parties one of them was heard to say, “I’ll bet five hundred dollars they are Brethren preachers.” Professor Diddle, assisted by others, published the _West Virginia Lute_ in 1868, which had a tremendous sale, both among our people and those of other churches. Then Baltzell’s music, probably _Golden Songs_, came next among our own publications. This was also a popular book, and one of great merit. While it contained many imperfections, it was nevertheless thoroughly “orthodox” from our view-point. The author was not a scientific music writer. He did not grind his songs out at the organ in a mechanical way, but manufactured them in his heart. Such music always takes. There is something about it that gets hold of the soul and stirs its deepest emotions. I do not understand what that something is, but it is there, all the same.