portals to let the spirit enchained of God return to earth; when the great fulfilment of a nation's yearning had come to pass; still they believed not fully. Would they believe when, mounted high on a tree of shame, should hang the Son of God, in proof of boundless love? Would they believe when He should be seated on a cloud weighted with God's own glory to be worthy to bear the Conqueror of sin to heaven? No. The answer to His agonised prayer had been accorded; the great experiment, the precursor of the greater love to come, had been completed; science, suspicion, philosophy, conventionality, the laws of this world and the next, all had been overruled; yet from the voice of His own follower had come the cry of doubt, sprung up again, like some posionous weed that will not be denied its growth.
The tears of Christ had been shed in vain; Lazarus returned but to tread in the same pastures, on the same piercing thorns, to battle once more with the same enemy who had lived in the hearts of men while Lazarus died.
None at first durst approach the motionless body; then John, the beloved of the Lord, stepped forward at his Lord's behest.
One by one John cut with the dagger that hung by his side the cords that bound the hands and feet, leaving to the last the face; but whether he feared to look on Lazarus, or wished to keep them in suspense, not one could tell. Meanwhile the crowd continued silent, almost breathless. At last the napkin fell, and Lazarus stood there in all the beauty of his countenance.
