There was a subdued hum of whispering voices in the place. The hum suddenly ceased. Tom Hammond glanced quickly towards the platform. Half-a-dozen gentlemen and one or two ladies were taking their seats there. They bowed their heads in silent prayer.
A minute later a tall, fine looking man, the centre one of the platform group, rose to his feet and advanced to the rail. He held a hymn-book in his hand. His keen eyes swept the faces of the gathered people. Then in a clear, ringing voice like the voice of a military officer on the battle-field, he cried:
“Number three-twenty-four. Let every voice ring out in song.”
Tom Hammond opened the linen-covered book that had been handed to him as he entered, and was almost startled to note the likeness of the sentiment of the hymn to the poem of B. M., which had struck him so forcibly that night in his office.
The major gave out the first verse:
“It may be at morn, when the day is awaking,
When sunlight thro’ darkness and shadow is breaking,
That Jesus will come in the fulness of glory,
To take out of the world ‘His own.’”
The major paused a moment to interpolate, “Let the gladness of the thought ring out in your voices as you sing, but especially in the chorus.”