Mary Cholmondeley 
A Devotee 

THE cathedral was crammed. The tall slender arches seemed to spring out of a vast sea of human heads. The orchestra and chorus had gradually merged into one person: one shout of praise, one voice of prayer, one wail of terror. The Elijah was in mid-career, sailing like a man-of-war upon the rushing waves of music.
And presently there was a hush, and out of the hush a winged voice arose, as a lark rises out of a meadow, singing as it rises:
‘O rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him, and He shall give thee thy heart’s desire.’