Next morning before daybreak the brothers of the Society of the Holy Gethsemane had gathered in their church in Bishopsgate Street for Lauds and Prime. Only the chancel was lighted up, the rest of the church was dark, but the first gleams of dawn, were now struggling through the eastern window against the candlelight on the altar and the gaslight on the choir.
John Storm was standing on the altar steps and the Father was by his side. He was wearing the cassock of the Brotherhood, and the cord with the three knots was bound about his waist. All was silent round about, the city was still asleep, the current of life had not yet awakened for the day. Lauds and Prime were over, the brothers were on their knees, and the Father was reading the last words of the dedication service.
“Amen! Amen!”
There was a stroke of the bell overhead, a door somewhere was loudly slammed, and then the organ began to play:
Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty.
The brothers rose and sang, their voices filled the dark place, and the quivering sounds of the organ swelled up to the unseen roof.
Holy, Holy, Holy! Merciful and Mighty,
God in Three Persons, Blessed Trinity!
The Father's cheeks were moist, but his eyes were shining and his face was full of a great joy. John Storm was standing with bowed head. He had made the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and surrendered his life to God.