Not only singers, but the modern equivalent
of psaltery and tabret and cymbals, all have their
place in Dr. Conwell's scheme of church service;
for there may be a piano, and there may even be
a trombone, and there is a great organ to help
the voices, and at times there are chiming bells.
His musical taste seems to tend toward the
thunderous--or perhaps it is only that he knows
there are times when people like to hear the
thunderous and are moved by it.
And how the choir themselves like it! They
occupy a great curving space behind the pulpit,
and put their hearts into song. And as the
congregation disperse and the choir filter down,
sometimes they are still singing and some of them
continue to sing as they go slowly out toward the
doors. They are happy--Conwell himself is
happy--all the congregation are happy. He makes
everybody feel happy in coming to church; he
makes the church attractive just as Howells was
so long ago told that he did in Lexington.
And there is something more than happiness;
there is a sense of ease, of comfort, of general joy,
that is quite unmistakable. There is nothing of
stiffness or constraint.
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