Line after line was sung exultantly, accompanied by a brass band.
Immediately afterward a man fell on his knees and prayed most earnestly for a blessing on the meeting.
Then came another hymn:
"I love thee in life, I love thee in death;
If ever I love thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."
This hymn was also sung right through, and then, while a young sergeant went to fetch the colors, the whole great body of people burst into perfectly rapturous singing of the inspiriting words:
"The angels stand on the Hallelujah strand,
And sing their welcome home."
"Oh! Maurice would like that," whispered Cecile as she leant up against Mrs. Moseley. She never forgot the chorus of that hymn, it was to come back to her with a thrill of great comfort in a dark day by and by. Mrs. Moseley held her hand firmly; she and her little charge were looking at a strange sight.
There were three thousand faces, all intensely in earnest, all bearing marks of great poverty, many of great and cruel hardship—many, too, had the stamp of sin on their brows. That man looked like a drunken husband; that woman like a cruel mother. Here was a lad who made his living by stealing; here a girl, who would sink from this to worse. Not a well-dressed person in the whole place, not a soul who did not belong to the vast army of the very poor. But for all that, there was not one in this building who was not getting his heart stirred, not one who was not having the best of him awakened into at least a struggling life, and many, many poor and outcast as they were, had that indescribable look on their worn faces which only comes with "God's peace."
A man got up to speak. He was pale and thin, and had long, sensitive fingers. He shut his eyes, clenched his hand, and began:
"Bless thy word, Lord." This he repeated three times.