“Come Holy Ghost send down those beams,
 That sweetly flow in silent streams,
 From thy bright throne above;
 Oh, Come Father of the poor,
 Thou bounteous source of all our store;
 Come fire our hearts with love. 
 Come thou of comforters the best,
 Come thou the soul’s delicious guest,
 The pilgrim’s sweet relief: 
 Thou art our rest in toil and sweat,
 Refreshment in excessive heat
 And solace in our grief. 
 Oh! sacred light shoot home the darts,
 Oh! pierce the center of those hearts
 Whose faith aspires to thee. 
 Without thy God-head nothing can
 Have any worth a price in man,
 Nothing can harmless be.” 
 “Lord wash our sinful stains away,
 Water from heaven our barren clay,
 Our wounds and bruises heal. 
 To thy sweet yoke our stiff necks bow,
 Warm with thy fire our hearts of snow,
 Our wandering feet repair. 
 Oh, grant thy faithful dearest Lord,
 Whose only hope is thy sure word,
 The seven gifts of thy spirit. 
 Grant us in life to obey thy grace,
 Grant us in death to see thy face
 And endless joys inherit,
 Through the same Christ our Lord.” 
               “Amen.”

And now I often use this beautiful and comprehensive petition to my Dear Lord.

Charlien wrote that she had letters of introduction to a physician in Philadelphia, Dr. J. Ewing Mears, but in every letter would say:  “Keep on praying.”  This we did.  Oh, the anxiety of my mother heart!  My duties as landlady kept me busy all day and part of the night.  I often had to do my own cooking.

God was good to me and we were very successful financially, and managed to meet all debts and payments on the property we had purchased.

After I knew the operation had been performed in Philadelphia, I telegraphed to Charlien.  The answer came from the physician:  “All right,” but my anxiety was intensified.  I became almost wild with anxiety, and I determined to go to her.  I borrowed four hundred dollars from Alex McNabb, the man she was engaged to, and in three hours I was on my way to my precious suffering one.  As soon as I got on the train a sense of divine guidance came to me.

When I arrived at the hospital, I had the nurse take me to my child’s room.  I cannot describe the meeting.  She was packing up her clothes.  I said:  “Why are you doing this?” Then she told me this pitiful story:  “Mamma, you did not send me any money, and the Doctor and nurse seemed dissatisfied, so I took most of my clothes down to a soup house and pawned them, that the woman may give me a room and soup until I could hear from you.”