Abandoned by God, abandoned by man, He sank down under His weight of woe, with not a sign of life left save the bloody sweat that oozed out at every pore. So long did He lie there that even heaven seemed to doubt of His reviving, for an angel came and recalled Him to life — recalled Him from the agony of death to begin a living agony — to receive the false kiss of Judas, to see His sworn followers desert Him, to be led away, bound, by the rabble, to be flung headlong into the brook Cedron as He passed it, to be dragged wet and bleeding from Annas to Caiphas, and from Caiphas to Pilate, and from Pilate to Herod, and from Herod back to the courtyard of Pilate. There we find Him now. Let us push through that jeering, scoffing, brutal crowd and look at Him. My poor Brother! Handcuffed and bruised, His breast heaving with emotion, His breath quick and short, the perspiration dripping from His face, and His eyes wildly searching among those around Him for a friendly face. Suddenly His countenance lights up, for He sees, by the door, the Apostle Peter, come, no doubt, to fulfil his oath, and die with Him. Ah! no, for Peter will not even look at Him; he turns away swearing he never knew Him; and now the drops of sweat that trickle down Our Saviour's face are mixed with scalding tears.
Now that He is alone, entirely alone, the full frenzy of His enemies breaks upon Him. We see them load Him with dishonor; subject His body to every kind of abuse and torture, and finally murder Him before our eyes. They ask Him what He has to say in self-
