"Almighty and merciful God, who hast begotten us again unto a living hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, we approach Thy presence that we may offer to Thee our homage in the name of our risen and exalted Saviour. Holy, holy, holy art Thou, Lord God Almighty. The whole earth is full of Thy glory. Thou art more than all created things, and Thou givest us Thyself to be our portion. Like as the hart pants after the water-brooks, so make our souls to thirst for Thee, O God. Though Abraham acknowledge us not and Israel be ignorant of us, we are Thy offspring...." Mr. Seton had a litany of his own, and used phrases Sabbath after Sabbath which the people looked for and loved. The Jews were prayed for with great earnestness--"Israel beloved for the Father's sake"; the sick and the sorrowing were "the widespread family of the afflicted." Again, for those kept at home by necessity he asked, "May they who tarry by the brook Bezor divide the spoil"; and always he finished, "And now, O Lord, what wait we for? Our hope is in Thy word." There was no "instrument" in "Seton's kirk," not even a harmonium. They were an old-fashioned people and liked to worship as their fathers had done. True, some of the young men, yearning like the Athenians after new things, had started a movement towards a more modern service, but nothing had come of it. At one time psalms alone had been sung, not even a paraphrase being allowed, and when "human" hymns were introduced it well-nigh broke the hearts of some of the old people. One old man, in the seat before the Setons, delighted Elizabeth's heart by chanting the words of a psalm when a hymn was given out, his efforts to make the words fit the tune being truly heroic. Mr. Seton gave out his text: "The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king who made a marriage for his son, and he sent forth his servants, saying, Tell them which are bidden, and they would not come. Again he sent forth other servants, saying, Behold, I have prepared my dinner; my oxen and fatlings are killed, and all things are ready. _But they made light of it._" To Arthur Townshend Mr. Seton's preaching came as a revelation. He had been charmed with him as a gentle saint, a saint kept human by a sense of humour, a tall daughter, and a small, wicked son. But this man in the pulpit, his face stern and sad as he spoke of the unwilling guest, was no gentle saint, but a "sword-blade man." He preached without a note, leaning over the pulpit, pouring out his soul in argument, beseeching his hearers not to make light of so great a salvation. He seemed utterly filled by the urgency of his message. He told no foolish anecdotes, he had few quotations, it was simple what he said: one felt that nothing mattered to the preacher but his message.