"After perhaps half an hour's waiting, during which one incessant gust of singing rolled this way and that through the crowd, the leaders of the procession appeared far away — little white or black figures, small as dolls — and the sing- ing became general. But as the endless files rolled out, the singing ceased, and a moment later a priest, standing solitary in the great space, began to pray aloud in a voice like a silver trumpet.
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"I have never heard such passion in my life. I began to watch presently, almost mechanically, the little group beneath the ombrellino, in white and gold, and the move- ments of the monstrance blessing the sick; but again and again my eyes wandered back to the little figure in the midst, and I cried out with the crowd, sentence after sen- tence, following that passioned voice:
"'Lord, we adore Thee!'
"'Lord,' came the huge response, 'we adore Thee.'
"'Lord, we love Thee,' cried the priest.
"'Lord, we love Thee,' answered the people.
"'Save us, Jesus, we perish.'
"'Save us, Jesus, we perish.'
"'Jesus, Son of Mary, have pity on us/
"'Jesus, Son of Mary, have pity on us.'
"Then, with a surge rose up the plain-song melody:
"'Spare, O Lord,' sang the people, 'spare Thy people! Be not angry with us forever.'
"Again:
" ' Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.'
"'As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.'
"Then again the single voice and the multitudinous an- swer:
"'Thou art the Resurrection and the Life!'
"And then an adjuration to her whom He gave to be our Mother:
"'Mother of the Saviour, pray for us.'
"'Salvation of the weak, pray for us.'
"Then once more the singing; then the cry, more touch- ing than all:
'"Lord, heal our sick!'
"'Lord, heal our sick!'
"Then the kindling that brought the blood to ten thou- sand faces:
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CIC
'Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David ! ' (I shook to hear it.)
"'Hosanna !' cried the priest, rising from his knees, with arms flung wide.
"'Hosanna!' roared the people, swift as an echo.
"'Hosanna! Hosanna!' crashed out again and again, like great artillery.
"Yet there was no movement among those piteous pros- trate lines. The bishop, the ombrellino over him, passed on slowly round the circle; and the people cried to Him whom he bore, as they cried two thousand years ago on the road to the city of David. Surely He will be pitiful upon this day — the Jubilee Year of His Mother's graciousness, the octave of her assumption to sit with Him on His throne !
"'Mother of the Saviour, pray for us.'
"'Jesus, Thou art my Lord and my God.'
"Yet there was no movement. . . .
"The end was now coming near. The monstrance had reached the image once again, and was advancing down the middle. The voice of the priest grew more persistent still, as he tossed his arms, and cried for mercy:
"'Jesus, have pity on us, have pity on us !'
"And the people, frantic with ardor and desire, answered him with a voice of thunder:
"'Have pity on us ! Have pity on us !'
"And now up the steps came the grave group to where Jesus would at least bless His own, though He would not heal them ; and the priest in the midst, with one last cry, gave glory to Him who must be served through whatever misery:
"'Hosanna ! Hosanna to the Son of David !'
"Surely that must touch the Sacred Heart! Will not His Mother say one word?
"'Hosanna! Hosanna to the Son of David!'
"'Hosanna!' cried the priest.
"'Hosanna!' cried the people.
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"'Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna! . . .'
"One articulate roar of disappointed praise, and then — Tantum ergo Sacramentumt rose in its solemnity."
There was no miracle, and Benson thinks that that is sufficient proof that the miracles are not wrought by "sug- gestion." "If ever 'suggestion* could work a miracle," he says, "it must work one now." But this was only the day of preparation, and the fever planted in the blood was working. And the next day the miracles came.145 "The crowd was still, very still, answering as before the passion- ate voice in the midst; but watching, watching, as I watched. . . . The white spot moved on and on, and all else was motionless. I knew that beyond it lay the sick. 'Lord, if it be possible — if it be possible! Nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done.' It had reached now the end of the first line.
"'Lord, heal our sick/ cried the priest.
"'Lord, heal our sick,' answered the people.
"'Thou art my Lord and my God!'
"And then on a sudden it came.
"Overhead lay the quiet summer air, charged with the supernatural as a cloud with thunder — electric, vibrating with power. Here beneath, lay souls thirsting for its touch of fire — patient, desirous, infinitely pathetic; and in the midst that Power, incarnate for us men and our salvation. Then it descended swift and mightily.