All gather from their journeyings to keep,
In humble guise, a week of holier time.
And now the horn has echoed wide and shrill,
And the great congregation waits for prayer.
One takes the stand—a man not taught by schools—
In habit plain, with hands embrown’d by toil;
Blunt in his speech, yet reverent withall.
Now, scarcely understood, he lifts his voice
In praise to God. Then as his feelings catch
The inspiration of that hallowed hour,