Gathered In by Catherine Helen Spence — Read

The Seer stood up to pray, and as each and all rose with him there was impressed on them the irresistible conviction that he was addressing One in whose existence, in whose immediate presence, in whose controlling power he intensely believed. It was no vague phraseology of adoration and petition, according to established form or routine, but a real laying of the present wants, aspirations, and repentances of the little knot of worshippers before the God who was waiting to hear, to help, to accept, to comfort them. From Donald up to his master and to Kenneth, from the housemaid to Miss Gray and Mrs. Ellerton, he seemed to touch some chord to which they responded. It was common prayer in the rarest sense, not because the words were so general that they must apply vaguely to all, but because he touched each soul with an intense motion, awoke in each a desire, more or less evanescent, after a union with the Divine, rose from the transitory to the eternal, from the duties of every day to the longings for higher powers and worthier service in the long day that was to follow, from the tenderness of our human loves and human memories to the infinite tenderness of the Divine compassion. Unwonted love warmed the heart, hope grew out of the love, hope blossomed into faith, and the unrealized world appeared for the time to be the most real thing in existence.

David Henderson's voice, though solemn, sweet, and penetrating, was not powerful enough to fill a large building, and therefore he could not have affected in a similar way a large congregation. But he gathered into sympathy with him such assemblies as this in a manner impossible to an ordinary preacher. He occasionally allowed his voice to sink to an impressive whisper which nevertheless was quite audible to such a handful of interested hearers.