And then she _felt_ for other's woe.
Poor child! God bless her richly! She reached out her short arms to
feel after some more unhappy than she in the condition of this life;
some whose fingers' ends had not read such sweet paragraphs of heaven's
mercy as hers had done; some who had not seen, heard, and felt what her
dumb, silent, deaf fingers had brought into her heart of joy, hope, and
love. Think of that, ye young eyes and ears that daily feast upon the
beauty and melody of this outer world! Within the atmosphere of her
quick sensibilities, she felt the presence of those whose cup was full
of affliction. She put her fingers, with their throbbing sympathies,
upon the lean bloodless faces of the famishing children in Ireland, and
her sightless eyes filled with the tears that the blind may shed for
griefs they cannot see. And then she plied the needle and those
fingers, and quickened their industry by placing them anon upon the
slow sickly pulse of want that wasted her kind at noonday across the
ocean. Days, and nights too--for day and night were alike to her
wakeful sympathies--and weeks she wrought on with her needle.
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