“It iss all right,” he said. “He wants to say——” he spat out some yard-long Welsh name, adding, “That means Pembroke Docks, Worshipful Sir. We haf good Masons in Wales, too.” The silent man nodded approval.
“Yes,” said the Doctor, quite unmoved. “It happens that way sometimes. Hespere panta fereis, isn’t it? The Star brings ’em all home. I must get a note of that fellow’s case after Lodge. I saw you didn’t care for music,” he went on, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with a little more. It’s a paraphrase from Micah. Our organist arranged it. We sing it antiphonally, as a sort of dismissal.”
Even I could appreciate what followed. The singing seemed confined to half-a-dozen trained voices answering each other till the last line, when the full Lodge came in. I give it as I heard it:
“We have showed thee, O Man,
What is good.
What doth the Lord require of us?
Or Conscience’ self desire of us?
But to do justly—
But to love mercy,
And to walk humbly with our God,