The Thread of Gold by A.C. Benson

I was awakened this morning, at the old house where I am staying, by low and sweet singing. The soft murmur of an organ was audible, on which some clear trebles seemed to swim and float -- one voice of great richness and force seeming to utter the words, and to draw into itself the other voices, appropriating their tone but lending them personality. These were the words I heard --

"The High Priest once a year Went in the Holy Place With garments white and clear; It was the day of Grace.