“Let them come! let them come to me!” And up the aisle she sped
With eyes that sought for the Voice, to follow where it led.
She did not say to herself: “I’m coming! Wait for me!”
But it shone in her face, and it leaped in her eyes, dear Margery!
Up the stair to the singer she ran, she touched the hem of her dress.
But the choir were bending their heads, the preacher had risen to bless
The reverent throng, and alas! bewildered Margery,
The Voice has ceased, and the singers have turned their eyes on thee.
They look with surprise at her feet, and again at her ragged gown,
And one by one they pass with a careless smile or a frown;