so faithful a son. The appeal of Jesus was made both to the Divine Principle, the God who is Love, and to himself. Had Life, Truth, and Love forsaken him in his highest demonstration of them? They must abide in him and he in them, or this hour would be shorn of its mighty blessing for his enemies.
If his full recognition of eternal being for a moment gave way before the evidence of the bodily senses, even under such awful stress of circumstances, what would his accusers say? Even what they did say, — that Jesus' teachings were false, and that all evidence of their truth was destroyed by his death.
The burden of that hour was heavy beyond human conception. The distrust of mortal minds, disbelieving the purpose of his mission, was a million times sharper than the thorns that pierced his flesh. The ponderous cross, which he bore up the hill of grief, was the world's hatred of Truth and Love. Not the spear or cross wrung from his faithful lips the plaintive cry, Eloi, eloi, lama sabacthani. He was moved by the possible loss of something more important than mortal life, the possible failure of the sublimest influence of his career. This dread added the drop of gall to his cup.
Remembering the sweat of agony, which fell in holy benediction on the grass of Gethsemane, shall the humblest or mightiest disciple murmur when he drinks from the same cup; or think to escape the world's terrible misjudgment? Truth and Love bestow few palms before the consummation of a life-work.
Love must triumph over hate. Truth and Life must seal the victory over error and death, before the thorns can be laid aside for a crown, and the “Well done,
