come. My
bright heaven does not tempt thee.

"Oh, my beloved, wilt thou not come soon?"

In the hall more and more began to sing the burden. Voice after
voice joined in. They did not rightly know what words they used.
The tune was enough. All their longing could sing itself free in
those tones. They sang, too, down by the door. Hearts were bursting.
Wills were subdued. It no longer sounded like a pitiful lament, but
strong, imperative, commanding.

"Oh, my beloved, wilt thou not come soon?"

Down by the door, in the worst of the crowd, stood Matts Wik. He
looked much intoxicated, but that evening he had not drunk. He
stood and thought. "If I might speak, if I might speak!"

It was the strangest room he had ever seen, the most wonderful
chance. A voice seemed to say to him: "These are the rushes to
which you can whisper, the waves which will bear your voice."

The singers started. It was as if they had heard a lion roar in
their ears. A mighty, terrible voice spoke dreadful words.

It scoffed at God. Why did men serve God? He forsook all those who
served him. He had failed his own son. God helped no one.

The voice grew louder, more like a roar every minute. No one could
have believed that human lungs could have such strength. No one had
ever heard such ravings burst from bruised heart. All bent their
heads like wanderers in the desert, when the storm beats on them.

Terrible, terrible words! They were like thundering hammer strokes
against God's throne. Against Him who had tortured Job, who had let
the martyrs suffer, who let those who professed his faith burn at
the stake.

A few had at first tried to laugh. Some of them had thought that it
was a joke. But now they heard, quaking, that it was in earnest.
Already some rose up to flee to the platform. They asked the
protection of the Salvation Army from him who drew down upon them
the wrath of God.

The voice asked them in hissing tones what rewards they expected
for their trouble in serving God. They need not count on heaven.
God was not freehanded with His heaven. A man, he said, had done
more good than was needed to be blessed. He had brought greater
offerings than God demanded. But then he had been tempted to sin.
Life is long. He paid out his hard-earned grace already in this
world. He would go the way of the damned.

The speech was the terrifying north-wind, which drives the ship
into the harbor. While the scoffer spoke, women rushed up to the
pla