They sang the verse, and when they had finished he stood looking at them
in silence for a moment or two, then announced solemnly:

"Friends, that will not do for this hymn. Sing it with your hearts.
Listen to me."

Then he sang a verse in a deep, strong baritone.

"Now try."

Timidly they obeyed him.

"No, no, not at all," he shouted at them. "Listen."

Again with exquisitely distinct articulation and in a tone rich in
emotion and carrying in it the noble, penetrating pathos of the great
words in which is embodied the passion of that heart subduing world
tragedy. He would not let them try it again, but alone sang the hymn to
the end. By the spell of his voice he had gripped them by the heart. The
giggling girls in the front seat sat gazing at him with open mouths and
lifted eyes. From every corner of the room faces once dull were filled
with a great expectant look.

"You will never sing those words as you should," he cried, "until you
know and feel the glory of that wondrous cross. Never, never, never."
His voice rose in a passionate crescendo.

After he had finished singing the last great verse, he let his eyes