The doomed Indians lifted up their voices in song.

Never had they sung so feelingly, so harmoniously.
When the song ended Zeisberger, who stood upon a platform, opened his Bible and read: "In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment, but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord, thy Redeemer." In a voice low and tremulous the venerable missionary began his sermon.
The shadow of death hovered over these Christian martyrs; it was reflected in their somber eyes, yet not one was sullen or sad.

The children who were too young to understand, but instinctively feeling the tragedy soon to be enacted there, cowered close to their mothers.
Zeisberger preached a touching and impressive, though short, sermon.
At its conclusion the whole congregation rose and surrounded the missionary.

The men shook his hands, the women kissed them, the children clung to his legs.

It was a wonderful manifestation of affection.
Suddenly Glickhican, the old Delaware chief, stepped on the platform, raised his hand and shouted one Indian word.
A long, low wail went up from the children and youths; the women slowly, meekly bowed their heads.