Is when the soul unto the lines accords.[25]
‘The garment of praise’ is the white robe of the pure in heart, and, lacking this, the stately anthem has less of heaven’s music than the discordant voices of the village choir.
So Cowper prays—
Forgive the praise that falls so low
Beneath the gratitude I owe:
It means Thy praise, however poor;
An angel’s song could do no more.
So Keble sings—
Childlike though the voices be,
And untunable the parts,