“Now we shall have a truly GREAT hymn, a hymn you must sing in a truly great way, in what we call the grand style, number three hundred and sixty-seven.” Then in a voice, deep, thrilling, vibrant with a noble emotion, he read the words: “When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.” 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 wander over the benches until they rested upon the face of the lad on the side bench near him. “Aha, boy,” he cried. “You can sing those words. Try that last verse.” The boy stared, fascinated, at him. “Sing the last verse, boy,” commanded the evangelist, “sing.” As if impelled by another will than his own, the boy slowly, with his eyes still fastened on the man's face, threw back his head and began to sing. His voice rose, full, strong, in a quaint imitation in method of articulation and in voice production of the evangelist himself. At the third line of the verse the evangelist joined in great massive tones, beating time vigorously in a rallentando. “Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.” The effect was a great emotional climax, the spiritual atmosphere was charged with fervour. The people sat rigid, fixed in their places, incapable of motion, until released by the invitation of the leader, “Let us pray.” The boy seemed to wake as from a sleep, glanced at his mother, then at the faces of the people in the room, sat down, and quickly covered his face with his hands and so remained during the prayer.