Does it need an effort?
Yes.

These changes of mood wear us out.
Dim it is, haunted by ghosts of white marble, to whom the organ for ever chaunts.

If a boot creaks, it's awful; then the order; the discipline.
The verger with his rod has life ironed out beneath him.

Sweet and holy are the angelic choristers.

And for ever round the marble shoulders, in and out of the folded fingers, go the thin high sounds of voice and organ.