It was noted by everyone how strangely silent all the people were. After that first eager question, “Where is Jesus?” people went to their seats and, once seated, they were silent. All over the vast assembly could be seen hundreds of heads bowed, faces in hands, cheeks wet with tears of emotion. On the platform, no sight of groups of friends being introduced, or animated chatter of talk, but groups kneeling at their chairs, a hush over all that smote the newly arrived delegates like a blow as they came in from the noisy clangor of the streets outside.

There had been a program of music on the great organ, and a chorus of voices made up of groups of people representing all the great missions of the world. But a little before eight o’clock, the people still seated in almost deathlike silence, someone upon the platform—was it Martha?—began in a clear, joyful, but astonishingly calm voice to sing, “All Hail the Power of Jesus’s Name.”

The voice sang one line alone, and then it was joined by the voices of the thousands singing softly but clearly, a volume of melody that bore itself on wings of power up to the lighted dome and back again, in triumphant glory.

The song ceased almost abruptly.

And then, although the Hall was built with such massive walls that, as in all great cities, the sound of street noises were entirely excluded, a sound seemed to be gathering outside, a confused murmur at first, but building in volume and meaning as the people sat there waiting.

What was that? Strange cries came in from the outside! Those standing by the entrances received astounding words from the streets: “A great wind has come up the harbor and is now sweeping over the city.”

It was the first passing of it over the roof of the dome that the people had heard, as it fell like a giant fist on its arching pride.

What was that! Those near the entrances reported the wind to be sweeping through the streets between the skyscrapers, at a terrific speed. A few persons who appeared at the doorways and crowded as if terrified into the audience, reported the astounding news that all street traffic had ceased. Not a car wheel turned on Fourth Avenue or Broadway. A tidal wave was rumored to be sweeping up the harbor.

And now the roar of the great, unprecedented, stupendous storm that seemed to be one of those exhibitions of power that nature stores up through centuries of silent waiting, was heard as plainly as if the massive walls of the Hall were paper instead of blocks of granite and marble.

A cry came from the outside that the great buildings downtown, the proud towers and money-making palaces of the money kings, might go down before this astounding tempest.