ALICE'S QUESTION.

Softly, gently upward A strain from the organ floats, And the children at play in the nursery Listen awhile to the notes, Stop, and are silent a moment— They are almost tired of play, And the shadows of evening are falling, Making twilight out of the day. Then down the broad old staircase Comes the patter of little feet, And in through the open doorway, Drawn by the sounds so sweet. Then close to the organ stealing, With awe-struck eyes they gaze At the player, and listen mutely To the deep clear notes of praise. Then drawing nearer and nearer, Made bold by the twilight gray, Little Alice looks up, and whispers, "Did God teach you how to play?"