To the struggle again! The captain stepped forward and lifted the Bible over her head. Stop, stop! We feel that God is working among us. A conversion is near. Help us to pray! God will give us a soul.
They fell on their knees in silent prayer. Some in the hall joined in the prayer. All felt an intense expectation. Was it true? Was something great taking place in a fellow-creature’s soul, here, in their midst? Should it be granted to them to see it? Could it be influenced by these women?
For the moment the crowd was won. They were now just as eager for a miracle as lately for blasphemy. No one dared to move. All panted from excitement, but nothing happened. “O God, Thou forsakest us! Thou forsakest us, O God!”
The beautiful salvation soldier began to sing. She chose the mildest of melodies: “Oh, my beloved, wilt Thou not come soon?”
Touching as a praying child, the song entered their souls—like a caress, like a blessing.
The crowd was silent, wrapped in those notes. “Mountains and forests long, heaven and earth languish. Man, everything in the world, thirsts that you shall open your soul to the light. Then glory will spread over the earth, then the beasts will rise up from their degradation.
“Oh, my beloved, wilt thou not come soon?”
“It is not true that thou dost linger in lofty halls. In the dark wood, in miserable hovels thou dwellest. And thou wilt not come. My bright heaven does not tempt thee.
“Oh, my beloved, wilt thou not come soon?”
In the hall more and more began to sing the burden. Voice after voice joined in. They did not rightly know what words they used. The tune was enough. All their longing could sing itself free in those tones. They sang, too, down by the door. Hearts were bursting. Wills were subdued. It no longer sounded like a pitiful lament, but strong, imperative, commanding.