noon
Maternity was his subject -- that benign aspect of universal life -- tenderness , love , quiet , receptive , protective passion , the spirit that soothes rather than inspires , that busies itself with peaceful tasks , that kindles the lights and fires of home , that gives sleep , food and welcome ... . The bell stopped , and in the instant before the music began she heard , clear above the murmur within , the roar of the crowds outside , who still demanded their God . Then , with a crash , the huge organ awoke , pierced by the cry of the trumpets and the maddening throb of drums . There was no delicate prelude here , no slow stirring of life rising through labyrinths of mystery to the climax of sight -- here rather was full-orbed day , the high noon of knowledge and power , the dayspring from on high , dawning in mid-heaven . Her heart quickened to meet it , and her reviving confidence , still convalescent , stirred and smiled , as the tremendous chords blared overhead , telling of triumph full-armed . God was man , then , after all -- a God who last night had faltered for an hour , but who rose again on this morning of a new year , scattering mists , dominant over his own passion , all-compelling and all-beloved . God was man , and Felsenburgh his Incarnation !