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Lam diagrammes suivants illuatrent la mAthode. ita lure. 1 IX 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 r '■''■ ^n.'.Jv. t'^«: ^f^^ip^-w i^S;S / 1^ A PAPER BEAD BBFOBS THE IiAY-HBL]^K& ASSOCIATION OF THB CHUBCH OF ST. MATTHEW TMJ APOSTIiB AND EVANGELIST, QtJBBBO. By E. T. F. OTTAWA: J. BUREAU; PRINTER, »FA»K» STiapT. 1874. M*^ ji I I ■ ; i 1 I m lOUD iT MTHAl!, m I A PAPER READ. BEFORE THE LAY-HELPERS ASSOCIATION OF THE CHURCH OF ST. MATTHEW THE APOSTLE AND EVANGELIST, QUEBEC. By E. T. F. OTTAWA: J. BUREAU, PRINTER, SPARKS STREET. 1874. I r> » I w- > I, f H ' t ii i OUR LORD AT BETHANY. •:o:- > :i. When the voice of some kindly benefactor is hushed by death : When the face of some loving friend, who has sealed his fidelity with his life, has vanished from among us and is seen no more ; it is by an ineradicable instinct of our nature that we seek to re-create the minutest particulars of his pre- sence. We strive to recall his looks, his gestures, his very words. We would fain follow his footsteps ; we would trace again the paths which he trod, the places where he rested ; we would surround our- selves with the visible indications of his being : we would cheat ourselves almost into the belief that he is not wholly gone, but still exists in spirit beside us, though invisible as the viewless air. Our deep-rooted affection will not be torn up, refuses to give way. Alas, it is with an unspeakable yearning, with a love all the stronger for its hopelessness, that we gaze wistfully after the departing appari- tion. We seem yet to catch the sound of the re- treating footfalls. To us he still lives : to us he •will live always. " "' ' ^' — ' ' ^^ • We can understand then how it is that, for age after age, the christian worshippers of all lands, ~2 — the wealthy, the poor, the highborn and the indi- gent, have visited and traversed the Holy land, Palestine, the scene of Our Lord's life and suffer- ings, and have examined, with lowly and affec- tionate veneration, every trace of his wanderings, every print of his footsteps. And not without rea- son. For those wanderings were made for our sakes : it was for us that he became weary, home- less, footsore, despised, and an outcast. For us he suffered, died and was buried ; and again broke the bonds of death in sunder, in token that we also should rise again. The word was made flesh and dwelt among men. He became like unto us. We have most of us, it may be, a difficulty in realising the perfect huma- nity of the son of Man. To our seeming, the words which He spoke, the lessons which He taught, and those loving utterances with which he soothed the sorrows of the desolate, all sound to us almost as the mere echoes of a Divine voice heard faintly across the abyss of a lengthened lapse of time, rather than the speech of a being human as ourselves, and who, consenting to veil his Divinity for a space, took upon himself the form of a ser- vant. Yet He was indeed a man, living manlike ; he hungered, he thirsted, he was wea^y : he shared in the innocent festivities, the kindly amenities of life. He mourned with the mourners, he mingled his tears with theirs ; and wept with them over the grave of the departed : and in that last closing scene at Calvary, he did not forget to soothe the weeping w^omen who followed him on the way, f K 3 — I r and to commend his mother Mary to the beloved disciple, * who took her to his own home/ Nor, as I think, on reading these precious re- cords of his life, can we escape the conviction that Our Lord, throughout the days of his humiliation, suffered more than other men. Yes, inconceivably more : The quickly kindled rebuke, the instant commiseration, the warm tears which he shed, and even those mysterious eclipses of his higher nature, those cries as of one forsaken, the momentary dark- ness and desolation of Glethsemane and the Cross, all these seem to assure us that he possessed a frame and spirit of exquisite sensibility. When He, the meek, the infinitely lowly, came, as he did, to seek and to save, to deliver the captives, to bind up the wounds of the broken hearted, and to give eternal life to all who would accept it, — what must He have felt, when his message was despised and himself rejected ? One of our chiefest poets has spoken wisely and well of the suffering inflicted by a thankless child. What must Our Lord have felt, when he came to his own, and his own re- ceived Him not ? Neither was His the torpor of old age, or the fatuous ignorance of childhood : but he passed through these days of tribulation in the prime of glorious manhood, in the perfection of bodily sense and mental perception, with every nerve attuned to vibrate responsively to all the sights and sounds, to all the passionate and varia- ble greeting, that met him on his way. To a being so constituted, it must have been most QTateful to withdraw at times from the tur- — 4 — moil of public life to the quietude and repose of some secluded home. Here, surrounded by those whom he loved, and waited upon by the lowly ministration of friends. He might pause for a while, might calm his disquieted spirit and heal his bitter wounds, and so gather renewed strength and energy for that last conflict wherein de .^th was swallowed up in victory. Such a place was Be- thany, on the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, whose western slope fronts the city of Jerusalem, the valley of Jehosaphat lying between. It is now known as El Lazarich, or the village of Lazarus : and while the locality of other places, as Caper- naum, Bethsaida and Charazin, has faded away in incertitude, that of Bethany has never been dis- puted. It lies surrounded by hills, a lonely spot in the wilderness, remote from the more noisy haunts and occupation of men. Huge masses of foliage, the growth of olives, almonds, pomegra- nates, as well as of oaks and carobs, afford here and there a cooling and refreshing shade : while, from its great elevation, a magnificent view is afforded, eastward, of the adjacent valley of the Jordan. "We know not the beginnings of our Lord's intim- acy with the family of Martha and Mary. From the words of his pathetic exclamation in the Tem- ple, " Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would " I have gathered thy children together," we are led to believe that He visited the city on many othe^ occasions than on those mentioned by the Evangelists. Nor does it seem at all improbable, of' itself, that Our Lord's well known visit, when — 6 — twelve years old, was subsequently repeated. In some of these unrecorded journey r up to Jerusa- lem made between his twelfth and thirteenth year and performed doubtless for the purpose of attend- ing the greater festivals, the Holy Family may have taken, as was frequently done, the route through Persea and the Jordan valley, from their extreme aversion to hold intercourse with the people ot Samaria, which lay in the direct path. How deep this aversion was, we may learn from the question asked of Our Lord at c later date, " How is it " that thou, being a Jew, askest water of me who '* am a woman of Samaria ? " Peopled for the most part by the descendants of the live heathen nations which Esarhaddon, at the close of the Baby- lonish captivity, had planted in the land, Samaria with its central position and rich fields of waving grain, remained to the last a standing reproach and horror to the Hebrews of the Covenant. Its peo- ple were indeed publicly cursed in the Jewish Synagogues : the words " Thou art a Samaritan " and hast a devil," were intended to express the last extremity of contumelious insult : and the Jews of Gralilee, equally with those of Judaea care- fully avoided all contract or dealing with their mixed and semi-idolatrous neighbours. That the social position of the family which Jesus loved was one far removed from indigence or osbcurity may be inferred from the cumulative evidence of several minor incidents : as, for ins- tance, the large attendance of Jews at the grave of Lazarus, the costly anointing of Our Saviour by 6 K- Mary, the employment of a messenger to go to Bethabara and the general deference paid to them at all times. They were therefore in a condition to exercise freely that hospitality which was uni- versally practised at the greater festivals. At these times, the houses of those living in the city, or in its neighborhood, were thrown open as a matter of course, to the wayfarer who came irom afar to worship in the Court of the Temple. Thus we find that at his last passover, Our Lord sent Peter and John into the city to a certain man, whom they were to recognise by a sign, and who at once gave them the apartment required. This practice was indeed to be expected from the vast multitudes that attended these feasts. Thus Jose- phus has told us, that at a given pa,ssover upwards of two hundred thousand paschal lambs, from ac- tual count, were sacrificed : allowing ten persons to each, the smallest allowable number, the parti- cipants must have amounted to more than two millions. Here then Our Lord, while as yet known only as ' the carpenter ' the worker in wood, may often have been entertained, may often have found a shelter and a resting place. With what simple- minded awe, with what guileless affection must he have been regarded by the youthful Martha and Mary, and how must Laza^as, then strong in early manhuod, have gazed with large and wondering eyes on the gentle-spoken Nazarene, thoughtful, pre- maturely wise, beloved of all and growing in favor with Grod and man. Surely, as they sat and list- — -7 — ened with beating hearts, some gleams of His di- viner nature must have broken through, and some fine instinct must have taught them, that a greater than Solomon was there. Did He, who in after- days drew a lesson from the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, — did He shew them the flowers at their feet, the lamps of Heaven above, the glories of the visible creation .everywhere, and so lead them from nature up to its divine author ? And when the sun set behind Mount Olivet and dark- ness fell upon the mountains, did He speak to them in tones that held them entranced with their strange power and melody, in words that rolled onward, calm and serene as the flow of some mighty river, of those ancient vaticinations, those lofty Messianic prophecies, that told how, in the latter days, there should come a star out of Jacob and a sceptre should rise out of Israel, and how the Strong One, the Elect and Servant of G-od, should be sent to open the blind eyes and to bring the prisoners from the prison ? And they, haply, with heads reverently bowed, wishing, yet not daring, to ask the question which his words suggested, whether this scripture was not this day fulfilled, — withdrew in silence to their rest, wond- ering greatly at these things. Their guest departed : and there seemed a void in the household. He was gone. It was as if the glory of some majestic vision, the utterance of some divine voice, was suddenly withdrawn, leav- ing only darkness and silence. Yet it seemed as if some echoes of those tones yet lived in the tre- 8 — mulous air and ran whisperingly along the rooms he so lately gladdened with his presence. But even these died out at length. Months and years passed : and then rumours reached them from all parts, from the Jordan, from Jerusalem, from the far lake of G-alilee, of his wondrous deeds, his miracles, his teachings, his open assumption of the office of priest and prophet, his claim to be consi- dered as the long expected Messiah. Then, after a time, a dark cloud settled on the loving family at Bethany ; Lazarus was sick. Laza- rus the beloved brother. His life was ebbing rapidly away. Was there no help ? Was there none to arrest his downward progress to the tomb ? Oh, if their Lord and friend, if He who had so many times healed the sick and withdrawn the dying from the gloomy portals of the grave, — if He, the strong and mighty to save, were only with them now, all would be well. Let him only come, and their brother would live. Our Lord was at this time, at Bethabara beyond Jordan, the place where John at first baptised, whither He himself had now retired from Jerusa- lem, his time being not yet come, to avoid the per- secution consequent on his claim to an equality with the Father. From the festival of the Dedica- tion, in December, when he went to Jerusalem, to the feast of the Passover, in April, when he return- ed there for the last time, is about four months, and he appears to have spent nearly the half of this period, or about six weeks, at Bethabara. We may place here the delivery of the parables i*arrated 9 — IS Lt m lis 51- l I in the fourteenth and two following chapters of 8t. Luke, that of the lost sheep, the lost piece of silver, the prodigal son, and that of the wasteful steward. While thus enjoying converse with the earliest converts of the Baptist, instructing his disciples, and preaching the words of eternal life to publi- cans and sinners, a messenger reached Him from the household of Martha, with the simple and pathetic words, " Lord, he whom thou lovest is sick." That was all. No word more. It was not necessary to appeal to the friendship of their divine master : it needed not to say, " Lord, come and heal him." They, in their unshaken faith, knew^ that their passionate cry for help would fall on no unheeding ear, they felt, in the guileless simplici- ty of their strong affection, that they, crying out of the depths of their great anguish would be heard and answered. They knew that he would come. And He came : but not then. It was Our Lord's pleasure to subject their faith and patience to a severe trial. He waited for two days after recei- ving the message before setting out on his journey. The gloom of sorrow deepened meanwhile with his friends at Bethany. The grave was opening at their feet : and He came not. The sun set and rose again : still He came not. With what agony of expectancy, fearing, hoping, half despairing, must they have watched and waited through the long hours of day and twilight, and through all the dreadful night, that seemed as if it would never end. How must every moaning cry, every feverish wandering of the sufferer, have seemed — 10 — almost like a leproach t(^ the rrieiidsliix) that halted thus ill coming. Than the morning came, the darkness lied : the sun arose in his strength : the far off hills of Moab, that lav iike a wall on the edge of the horizon, were all allame with the glo- rious golden hues of the day's early prime : and the visible world arose out of the gloom of night, new-created, rejoicing, alive with song, and redo- lent with the incense of shrub and flower. Still He came not. A.nd Lazarus, as a strong cedar smitten down in its strength, died and was buried. Can we wonder if darkness for a moment descen- ded on his weeping sisters ? if a cold mist of doubt and despair wrapped them as a pall ? and if to them, all truth and honor and faithfulness seemed dead, or baseless as a vision ? What wonder if, to them, in so rude a shock the very pillars of the, moral world seemed shaken ? If their foothold failed here, where might they tread safely, and if this friend had deceived them, who or what might be believed ? — No : all things were false and vain : and through the mists and shadows of a world that had thus suddenly grown grey and cold, there would be for them, as for others, naught save the shapes and phantoms of unreal seeming. A sad neo-ation of belief, yet not new or wholly without ground. Our Lord himself had already summed up the selfishness and indifference of the world in the character of the Pharisee who passed by on the other side ; and for age after age, through all time, moralist, poet, and philosopher had des- canted mournfullv on the faith that fails in time — 11 glo- and ight, edo- Still jedar tried. ol trial, and the love that perishes ere liie he dim. But it was not so with Him. He had not Ibr- gotten to be gracious. He was already on the way. A rumour of his coming preceded him. The distance being not much under thirty miles, it was, most probably, not till the alternoon oi' the second day that he approached the villa ize of Be- thany. Then Martha, roused by the strong* revul- sion of feeling, impatient of delay, and again hoping for some undefined way ol escnpe from these evils, hastened Ibrw^ard to meet Him on the roiid, addressing Him in those words, memorable through all time for their simple i^athos, — " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died ", — and thus leading f'j that sublime declaration on the part of Our Lord, the very corner stone and pillar of Our Faith,, " I am the resurrection and the life : '' he that believeth on me, though he were dead, •' yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and •' believeth in me shall never die. '' G-roaning in spirit he approached the urave : shewing by those precious tears which He is recorded to have shed, that He was indeed made like unto us, and touched with a feeling of out infirmities. Yet he was even than about to call Lazarus back to lile : he was about to perform the greatest of his miracles by resuscitating a body which had lain three days in the tomb, and on which corruption had already begun its work. He would shew that H<^ was supreme Lord of all thino-s : that with Him were the issues of life and 10 death : and thus, by raising the dead in this extre- mity, he Grave an assurance and a siffn that those who were content to tread in His footsteps should in like manner be raised from corruption to incorruption, and should hereafter have everlasting life with Him in his kingdom. For hitherto the world had lain in darkness. There seemed no certainty of a life beyond the grave. From age to age the generations of men had passed away, as the leaves that fall in autumn, lea^dng their survivors in dumb and shivering ex- pectance on the brink of the abyss, gazing down- wards into the gulf which threatened to swallow all things. The mother resigned her child, the parent his offspring, and each gave up what he most loved, with a despairing grief untempered by the hopes which are permitted to us now. The semi-orientalism of Plato the divine, and the stoi- cism of Seneca, the noblest eiFort of Roman philo- sophy, seemed in their lofty idealism to be poetic aspirations to shape out what might be, rather than the utterance of deep and well founded conviction. Even among the stoics there were those who, like the Ehodian Panoetius, the intimate friend of Sci- pio Emilianus and the younger Leiius, flatly denied the doctrine of a future life. The Roman Orator Cicero speaks thus contemptuously of the disciples of the Porch, — " They maintain that souls continue " to exist after they have left the body, but that they *' are not to exist always, gratifying us thus not with *' immortality, btu with a long life, somewhat like " crows." This is explained by Diogenes to have re- 13 — Id po ference to the opinion of Cleanthes,that souls should be preserved only to the conflagration of the uni- verse, when all was to be absorbed into the supreme deity. We seem here to trace a line- of thought collateral with that of the old Brahimnic theosophy . But whatever the speculations of the refined and cultivated spirits of the time, the period of Au- gustus and Tiberius was an age of the most hopeless atheism and the idlest superstition, an age of unbounded luxury and yet withal of profoundest sadness. There appears indeed to be almost a necessity that these seeming opposites should co- exist. The popular mind, with that instinctive feeling which prompts the drowning to catch at a straw, sought a refuge from the nihilism of philo- sophic systems in all the outward splendor of ceremonial religion, in the solemn functions of the priests, the Salii, the Flamens, and the Augurs, and thence, urged by their deep unrest, descended to give implicit credence to sorcerers, astrologers, exorcists, and impostors of every kind. The un- known powers which surrounded them, the dread and secret influences of the Universe, might haply be thus appeased, and perhaps thus interpreted. So also it was an age of boundless luxury, of im- measurable sensuality. The softness of Sybaris, the manners of Rhodes and Antioch, and of per- fumed, drunken, flower-crowned Miletus, were all to be found at Rome. The dignity and self- respect of the old city of the Republic had vanish- ed. The descendants of ^milius and Grracchus mixed familiarly with the pariahs of society in -~ 14 — the lowest dens of infamy : no form of \'iee was left unpracticed : the refinements of Oriental sen- sualism were eagerly naturalised : and women, forgetting their divine mission, unsexed them- selves to take part in the shameless orgies of Koman patricians. Words W(mld fail to express the unutterable degradation of the time, as half revealed by t*^eneca and the satirists ; — a degra- dation which, doubtless, in its origin was but the outgrowth and ultimate expression of the feeling that from death there was no awakening. " Non semper idem floribus est honor, " exclaims the graceful poet of Venusia, — " the same glory does not always remain to the flowers of spring, nor does the ruddy moon shine with one conti- nued aspect ; why therefore dost thou fatigue thy mind unequal to eternal objects ? Why do we not rather, while it is yet in our power, thus carelessly reclining under a lofty plane-iree or this pine, with our hoary locks made fragrant by roses, and anointed with Syrian perfume, in- " dalge ourselv(\s with u'enerous wine ? " Even so. Lot us eat and drink, lor tomorrow we die. In their dei^p despair of all tilings the votaries of ph^'isure rushed madly on ; and sid(^ by side with thera went the phantom Death. Suicide, — suicide out of mere ennui and weariness of life was singu- larly prevalent. Man ran to death, because all forms oi' pleasure had been exhausted ; to escape the tedious iteration of a most wearisome round, they souu'ht by poison, by starvation, by venesection, by sudbeation in the bath, th(^ repos(» that seemed 4C H u li li u ii u -> i o promised \)y an al).soluto nei»ation ol* being. The world's wit and wisdom terminated here ; and alter the revolution of so lariie a cycle, after the ebb and How ol so man\^ centuri(\s, that had seen the des- pairing' efforts of successive generations struggling for light and life, and swept onward unpityingly into darkness and oblivion, it seevied as if Huma- nity was ending' where it began, without assurance of a resurrection, and with no certain or well founded hope of an immortality hereafter. But the light had dawned at last. The decisive moment swas come. And when, at those dread words " Lazarus, come forth, " the hgure of the dead man slid forwards and downwards from its receptacle into the open vault, and stood on its feet sv/athed and bound, awful as some j^ale phantom of the grave, half doubting its own resuscitation, and reopening, in fear and wonder, those eyes that seemed closed for ever, — the lengthened period of probation, the long bondage of Grod's children, ended at once and for ever with the words " Loose " him, and let him go. " It was done. The faith- ful and true witness had sjioken : and the ray of spiritual light, which then flashed into being, still vshines as a star above the troubled waters of time. And Lazarus himself, what of him ? Did he reveal the dread secrets of the kingdom of shadows ? Did he who had so lately come from that world which lies all around us and of which we know nothing, that dim hiding-place of souls whither our dearest have gone, — did he breathe no syllable of its mysteries ? He spoke no word. Neither from — 16 — him nor from others who like him have died and lived ai^ain, has any sound or whisper escaped, to gratify either idle questionini^, or half natural curio- sity. Let us be content with the conviction that we know all that is necessary or profitable, that Our Lord has taken away all terrors of the grave, and that we need not fear to tread where one so great has gone before. The raising of Lazarus, the most stupendous of Our Lord's miracles is narrated by St. John alone. In few and plain words, yet therefore all the more impressive and sublime, is described this wondrous victory over death. Nothing, to my mind, is more demonstrative of the divine origin of these sacred records, or shews more clearly that the Holy Spirit must have guided the pen of the writer, than the absence of all feverish or labored declamation, of all exaggeration in style or sentiment. Those human passions which are part of our heritage, even the allowable sympathies and emotions of our nature, seem, here, to be held in check by some calmer and serener spirit, some higher and mightier influence. The sustained and majestic simplicity of the style is as remarkable as the absence of all superfluity. It is for us to reverence and imitate this noble reticence. It is for us to be silent, and to adore. After this significant exhibition of his power. Our Lord withdrew from Bethany to Ephraim in the wilderness, and remained there with his disci- l^les until the passover was at hand. It is thought that he sought this s(».cluded spot to avoid the — 17 hid to 'io- lat lat so observation of his eiieiaies till tht^ appointed hour was come. Here he instnicted his disciples and prex)tired them for their labours. Alter a -stay of about six weeks here, the time for concealment being now past, and wishing to enter Jerusalem with all publicity, he directed his course to the Jordan with a Aaew to meet the pilgrims from Gralilee, Avho took this way to the feast. Then turning to the south, he passed through Jericho, came again to Bethany six days before the pass- over, and made his home, as before, with the family of Martha and Mary, until his final trial and crucifixion. Arriving here on Friday, the eve of the Sabbath, he supped on the following evening in the house of Simon the leper. On the next day (Palm Sun- day) he made his public entry into Jerusalem. It was on this occasion that on crossing the ridge of Olivet, and coming in view of the city, He wept over it. On Monday and Tuesday He again visi- ted the city : in the morning, as St. Luke informs us He was teaching in the temple, and at eve " He " went out and abode in the mount that is called " of Olives, " that is, Bethany. Tuesday the 11th of Nisan (April 3rd) is memo- rable as the last day of Our Lord's public teaching. Discoursing in the Temple, He set forth the guilt of the Pharisees in rejecting Him, by the parables of the Two Sons and the Vineyard, the Wicked Husbandman, and the Wedding Garment. The Herodians friendly to the Eoman power, wishing to convict him of treason to Caesar, He put them — 18 — to silence by asserting the lawfulness oi paying tribute. The Sadducees next proj^osin*;' a ease which seemed to place the law of Levirate marriag-es in conflict with the doctrine of the resurrection, were met by an assertion of the spirituality of the future state ; and, in contradiction of their denial of the immortality of the soul, were shown that the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is a Grod not of the dead but of the living. Lastly he was here visited by certain G-reeks, an incident mentioned only by St. John. Stier sets this visit of the Greeks from the w^est, in contrast to the visit of the Magi from the East : the one at the end, the other at the beginning of His life. Then leaving Jerusalem He went to enjoy a last interval of repose at Bethany. He remained here during the evening of Tuesday, all Wednesday, and great part of Thursday, leaving it as the day advanced, to partake of his last passover at Jerusa- lem with the disciples, on the eve of His cruci- fixion. Dur ig these days of retirement, his time was probably divided between the house of Martha and the wooded slopes of Olivet. From the sum- mit of the Mount a magnificent view is obtained of Jerusalem which on its lower elevation lies spread out below like a map, while on the other side, eastward, the Jordan valley and the Dead Sea are plainly perceptible. How grand the historic association connected with this stretch of vision ! Two thousand years before, Melchizedek, king of Sal^m, came forth from the hill city to bless the ~ 11) Father ol* the laithlul. There on Mount Moriah Isaac was ofi'ered : and on the twhi Mount, Zion, rose of old, like a glorious vision, the Temple of Solomon. At the I'eet of our Saviour flowed the brook Kedron, recalling* the affecting' narrative of David's llii>ht from Absalom. " And all the coun- '• try wept with a loud voice and all the people " passed over : the king iJso himself passed over, "toward the way of the wilderness. And David " went up by Mount Olivet, and wept as ho went " uj), and had his head covered and he went ])are- '• foot : and all the people that were with him eo- " vered every man his head, and they went up " weeping as they went." Far to the right, beyond the Damascus g ite, was the cave where the prophet Jeremiah was said to have composed his Lamen- tations : while on the extreme left, cut in the solid rock, was the monument of Jehosaphat ; and before it rose the pillar of Absalom, at which the Jews to this day, to shew their abborrencf of the undutiful son, cast stones as they pass. North- eastw^ard, He saw as it' close to His feet, the wilderness of the Temptation, a network oi' preci- pices and black tunnel-like gorges,a region wearing a weird lorgotien look, as of a dispeopled world. Farther to the right lay the plain of Jericho, undu- lating with palm groves, and still further, in a deep cavity among the hills lay the Dead Sea, prisoned ])etween its great bastions of rock, and without a ripple to break its smooth transparent surface. Bevond this rose the hills of Moab, from the highest point of which. Mount Pisgah. Moses — 20 — looked on the land he was not permitted to enter, and from which, also, the proj)het Balaam pro- nounced his unwilling blessings and uttered the first recorded prophecy of the destinies of the world. To the left of these, oy(^r the wilderness of the Temptation and beyond the giant dome of Mount Quarantania, lay G-ilgal on this side Jordan, recalling* another incident in the heroic age of Israel. " And the people came up out " of Jordan on the tenth day of the first m >nth, " and encamped in Grilgal, in the east border of " Jericho, ihid those twelve stones which they *' took out of Jordan did Joshua pitch in ffilgaj. ^nd he spoke unto the children of Israel saying, when your children shall ask their fathers in " time to come, saying, what mean these stojies ? Then ye shall let your children know, saying, " Israel came over this Jordan on dry land. " ^^uch was the panorama tliat rose belbi-e the vision of the kSon of Man : such were its objects : and through the long sunny hours of those days oF r(^pose, who can doubt that He, who ever sym- pathised wiih Jerusalem and lier children, looked I'ound with calm thoughtfulness on them all. It may ])e too that He, the* Omniscient, thus communing with his own soul, looked back in thouofht on that o^ev dawn of time, before the mountains were brouixht forth, when as vet the - ' — ' * Dead Sea was not, when at tlie command of Him who cleft the earth with rivers, the cooling granite 8])lit into cracks and crevices, when Cariiiel and Lebanon and the Moabite hills of porplivrv rose — 21 — ro- llC3 r irom the abyss with earthquake throes, and the Jordan ran on with free channel, to the Elaniitie Gulf oi the Red Sea. Or did He think as he gazed on these barren wastes, receiving ungiatefally the dews of Heaven, on the thanklessness of those who re [used the blessings ELe proffered ? Did the rent rocks remind Him of the broken hearts he came to heal ? Or did the Jordan as with rapid swirl it entered the DeadvSea, that lonely lake into which How five rivers, and from which none t\nd an exit, suggest to him the noisy current of Time with its mnltitudinons issues, all silenced at last in the calm of eternity ? — Perhaps he took in his arms the brown children of the (h»sert, andbl(\'ssed them, as was his wont, and thought meanwhile of His own wondrous childhood, and o'" His return from Egypt aloni>' the shore of the blur }Jediterra- U(nxn, where the roses of Sharon were waicred by running brooks, and the sky-lark aloft, as in western lands, tilled Ww air vrith melodv and sona*. Then came the end. He must leave these hallowed haunts : he must l(Mive the loviiiii" familv at Bethany, the wooded slopes of Olivet, and tln^ quiet home where he loved to sojourn. He must leave them all : vet not tbr the last time. He having loved His own, loved them even unto the end. The affection of Our Lord seemed to trans- cend the limits of the u'rave : and when after his precious death and burial, he rose airun, he led his disciples towards Bethany, a 'id there, in view of all that h(^ had honored with a more than human love. He rose on hiu'h. He aseend