" I asked him if I could write to his mother. No, he said ; the surgeon had promised to write ; but could I, would I, sing to him ? I hesitated a moment, and looked around. The gleam on the yellow water of the Nile, as the western rays slanted down, caught my eye and suggested the river the streams of which shall make glad the city of God. I began to sing in a low voice the gospel hymn, * Shall we gather at the river ? ' Eager heads were raised around us to listen more intently, while bass and tenor voices, weak and tremulous, came in on the chorus — Yes, we'll gather at the river. The beautiful, the beautiful river ; Gather with the saints at the river That flows by the throne of God. " When the song was ended, I looked into the face of the boy—for he was not over twenty—and asked, ' Will you be there ? ' << less