Lamps were in every tabernacle. They shone brightly amid the bowers on the neighbouring housetops; they sent up their mingled radiance from the streets and porches, and glimmered on the mount of Olives and the neighbouring hills. As the night breeze blew chill, the lights were one by one extinguished. The women, the children and aged persons, withdrew to their couches, and the murmurs of the city sank into silence. The lights of heaven seemed to glow more brightly as the darkness drew over the earth. By midnight the lamp of Ozias was alone left burning. On his roof there were watchers who held discourse while others slept. Their voices were soft, so that the ripplings of Kedron were heard from beneath, while the yellow light from the deserted bower, gleaming on their thoughtful brows and moving lips, shewed that their communion was of the deep and lofty things which can best be spoken at dead of the night.
“It is said,” declared Ozias, “that he prepareth himself for enmity on the part of the people as well as their rulers. I fear, Sadoc, lest he should not be enthroned in the midst of our tabernacles, as thou dreamest.”
