She was thankful for that: she did not want to talk; she wanted only to control her faculties in silence, to reassert her faith, to look out over this enormous throng gathered to pay homage to the great Spirit whom they had betrayed, to renew her own courage and faithfulness.

She wondered what the preacher would say, whether there would be any note of penitence.

Maternity was his subject--that benign aspect of universal life--tenderness, love, quiet, receptive, protective passion, the spirit that soothes rather than inspires, that busies itself with peaceful tasks, that kindles the lights and fires of home, that gives sleep, food and welcome....
The bell stopped, and in the instant before the music began she heard, clear above the murmur within, the roar of the crowds outside, who still demanded their God.

Then, with a crash, the huge organ awoke, pierced by the cry of the trumpets and the maddening throb of drums.

There was no delicate prelude here, no slow stirring of life rising through labyrinths of mystery to the climax of sight--here rather was full-orbed day, the high noon of knowledge and power, the dayspring from on high, dawning in mid-heaven.