“I want every one of you to say the words to himself as I play them.”
In long-drawn, tremulous notes he voiced the beautiful plea for aid in the hour of man's supreme need, which finds expression in the first two lines. Then, with his bow gripping the strings in a great sweeping crescendo, he poured forth in full strong chords the triumphant faith with which the hymn closes.
He laid his violin on the piano, stood quite a few moments looking upon them, then said:
“Men, listen to these great words. They might have been written for us, and for these days;” and he recited to them the words of the Hebrew psalm, eloquent of courage in the face of a crumbling world:
“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.
Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.
There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved. God shall help her and that right early.
The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved; he uttered his voice, the earth melted.