It was evident that it was only by the exercise of tremendous will-power that he could restrain his emotions sufficiently to speak.
“God help me, dear friends!” he began, “for I know now that I have been a Judas to the Lord of Life and Glory, whose professed servant I have been. I have gloried in my success; in the crowd that always filled my church; in the adulation of my intellectual powers by the Press. But I have never glorified Christ. In a hundred subtle ways I have denied my Lord——He is my Lord now, I have found Him in the silence of the past awful night——. I have been practically denying His deity for years, I have talked learnedly, when I ought to have been walking humbly, and—and——.”
The strain was too much for him, tears streamed down his face, he covered his face with his hands, and dropped, sobbing, into his seat.
Sobs broke from many of the people. Weeping is infectious. In another moment the released pent-up emotions would have become a storm that none could have stayed. But the Bishop’s voice called out,
“Let us pray!”
Every head was bent, and a prayer, such as London’s Cathedral had never heard before, poured from the Bishop’s lips. The conclusion of the prayer was followed by a moment or two of deepest stillness.
The silence was, suddenly, sharply broken by a full, rich voice crying:—
“Sit up, dear friends! Hear ye the word of the Lord!”
As the people lifted their heads a cry of amaze rang out from many throats:—