I always knew you would be . Oh , I want you to sing a piece for me -- just one , wo n't you , dearie ? Sing that piece people like to hear you sing best . I forget the name , but I 've read about it in the papers . Sing it for me , little Joscelyn . '' And Joscelyn , standing by Aunty Nan 's bed , in the sunset light , sang the song she had sung to many a brilliant audience on many a noted concert-platform -- sang it as even she had never sung before , while Aunty Nan lay and listened beatifically , and downstairs even Mrs. William held her breath , entranced by the exquisite melody that floated through the old farmhouse . `` O , little Joscelyn ! '' breathed Aunty Nan in rapture , when the song ended . Joscelyn knelt by her again and they had a long talk of old days . One by one they recalled the memories of that vanished summer . The past gave up its tears and its laughter . Heart and fancy alike went roaming through the ways of the long ago . Aunty Nan was perfectly happy . And then Joscelyn told her all the story of her struggles and triumphs since they had parted . When the moonlight began to creep in through the low window , Aunty Nan put out her hand and touched Joscelyn 's bowed head . `` Little Joscelyn , '' she whispered , `` if it ai n't asking too much , I want you to sing just one other piece . Do you remember when you were here how we sung hymns in the parlour every Sunday night , and my favourite always was ` The Sands of Time are Sinking ? ' I ai n't never forgot how you used to sing that , and I want to hear it just once again , dearie . Sing it for me , little Joscelyn . '' Joscelyn rose and went to the window .
Lifting back the curtain , she stood in the splendour XXXXX the moonlight , and sang the grand old hymn .
about as by if in of since through to while