Yes, glory for me!
The first hymn was usually something of this sort, a tune with a swing to it, to get the congregation swaying in rhythm, and to attract the uncertain sinners lounging about the door and looking in, unable to decide whether or not to enter. Usually they came in after hearing “Glory” and a song or two like “Bringing in the Sheaves” and “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.” Later the choir swung into the doleful songs like “Rock of Ages” and “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” The emotional appeal was terrific; after the first hymn or two the audience joined, bellowing the words with fanatical fervor. Murmurs began to arise as the evangelist alternately talked and prayed, and then suddenly the music stopped, the preacher shut off his talk and for an instant there was a silence. It was theatrical hokum, but effective as always. Then Brother McConnell leaped and lunged to the front of the pulpit, his eyes glaring and his hair streaming down before his eyes. He flung his arms wide.
“Come to Jesus!” he shouted. “Brothers! Sisters! Come to Jesus!”
He stood there trembling, imploring the sinners to abandon their hellish lives, and the choir boomed into song:
Lives there a friend like the lowly Jesus?
No, not one!
No, not one!
All over the church now there were cries of ecstatic agony as the victims writhed in emotional torture, and after a little while people began jumping to their feet and shouting:
“Glory! Glory to God! Hallelujah!”
The noise was deafening. People were shouting in every part of the audience, they were weeping and moaning. One old woman jumped to her feet, climbed onto her seat and began to yell: