18 The Song of the Minster

would blend in one indescribable volume of
harmony, which made the huge pile thrill
and vibrate from roof to pavement.

As Thomas listened, his eyes became ac-
customed to the celestial light which encom-
passed him, and he saw —he could scarce
credit his senses that he saw—the little
carved angels of the oak stalls in the choir
clashing their cymbals and playing their
psalteries.

He rose to his feet, bewildered and half
terrified. At that moment the mighty roll
of unison ceased, and from many parts of
the church there came a concord of clear
high voices, like a warbling of silver trum-
pets, and Thomas heard the words they
sang. And the words were these —

Tibi omnes Angeli.
To Thee all Angels cry aloud.

So close to him were two of these voices
that Thomas looked up to the spandrels in
the choir, and he saw that it was the carved
angels leaning out of the spandrels that were
singing. And as they sang the breath came
from their stone lips white and vaporous
into the frosty air.