“Last night I lay a-sleeping, there came a dream so fair;
I stood in old Jerusalem, beside the temple there.”
A steer stepped restlessly out of the herd, and Thurston's horse, trained to the work, of his own accord turned him gently back.
“I heard the children singing; and ever as they sang,
Me thought the voice of angels from heaven in answer rang.”
From the west the thunder boomed, drowning the words in its deep-throated growl.
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing.”
“Hit her up a little faster, Bud, or we'll lose some. They're getting on their feet with that thunder.”
Sunfish, in answer to Thurston's touch on the reins, quickened to a trot. The joggling was not conducive to the best vocal expression, but the singer persevered:
“Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna to your King!”
Flash! the lightning cut through the storm-clouds, and Bob, who had contented himself with a subdued whistling while he listened, took up the refrain:
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem.”