“Comfort ye, comfort ye my people,”—it was breathed in soft soprano; “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people,” repeated in sweet contralto; “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people”; one after another caught up the words, until they broke from the full choir, a commanding strain.
The tenor chanted, “I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” It came again, distinct, sweet, thrilling,... “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And yet once more, that appealing call.
Silence fell. Even the organ was still. Out of the hush rose an eager voice, “Here am I; send me.” Another, “Here am I; send me.” And another, “Here am I; send me.”
Again the tenor, with the clear charge, “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.... Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, be strong, fear not... Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.”
“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, ...” Flutelike it rose, as if a skylark heralded the glad news.
It lingered through the interlude.
Presently from the choir burst the triumphant words:—
“Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains; for the Lord ... shall comfort ... his people.”
With a little sigh Doodles saw the organist step down from his seat. It was over! The preacher was at the desk. He had a pleasant, boyish face; but he did not look at all like Dolly Moon.
Doodles’s thoughts would run away from the prayer to Dolly Moon. Too bad she couldn’t be there! How well he remembered the first time she had smiled to him—dear Dolly!