Bartholomew's!
The organ pealed and the white-robed choir marched in, bearing the
golden crosses, and followed by the Reverend Dr. Lettuce-Spray,
smooth-shaven, plump and beautiful, his eyes bent reverently on the
floor. They were singing with fervor that most orthodox of hymns:
The church's one foundation Is Jesus Christ, her Lord.
It is a beautiful old service, as you may know, and I had been
taught to love it and thrill to it as a little child, and we never
forget those things. Peace and propriety are its keynotes; order and
dignity, combined with sensuous charm. Everyone knows his part, and
it moves along like a beautiful machine. I knelt and prayed, and
then sat and listened, and then stood and sang--over and over for
perhaps three-quarters of an hour. We came to the hymn which
precedes the sermon, and turning to the number, we obediently
proclaimed:
The Son of God goes forth to war A kingly crown to gain: His
blood-red banner streams afar: Who follows in His train?
During the singing of the last verse, the Reverend Lettuce-Spray had
moved silently into the pulpit.
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