I noticed it was better
modulated than at Mrs. Blake's funeral, possibly the effort to make
himself heard by the scattered groups on that occasion caused the
difference. My eyes filled with tears, and a strange trembling seized me
as the petitions grew more earnest; the prayer was short, yet so much was
comprehended in it. The Scripture lesson was read in very natural, but
also solemn manner, without any attempt at rhetorical display, yet
bringing out the subtle meanings of the passage in a peculiarly realistic
way. The sermon was delivered in much the same manner; but in every word
and gesture there seemed a reserve power and dignity, while the thoughts
were strong and original; and better than all, they made one wish to be
purer, more unselfish, in fact Christ-like.
The place seemed pervaded by some mysterious influence never experienced
by me before in any church. The sermon was ended at last; the Judgment
Day was the theme; all the old horror that used haunt me in childhood,
when I thought upon this awful period in my soul's future, came back to
me as the preacher with a power scarce short of inspiration pictured that
day. I could hear Mrs. Flaxman's subdued weeping while in every part of
the house, tears and low sobs added to the solemnity of the scene. Mr.
Winthrop sat with folded arms and set stern face, apparently unmoved; but
the intent watchfulness of his face as he followed the preacher assured
me that the sermon was making an impression. A hymn was sung when the
sermon was ended, and then all who wished to remain to the after-meeting
were assured of a welcome, no matter to what church they belonged, or if
aliens from all.
Pages:
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281