itself up into violent dissensions such as religious matters ever breed—about the Messiah's disappearance, the voice that so vibrated with truth and suasion, the intensity of whose reality no man could fathom; the voice, that those who had once heard it would never forget, rose in a long and bitter cry, like the dying warning of an eternal farewell:
"He that believeth in Me, believeth not in Me, but in Him that sent Me. I am come a light unto the world, that whosoever believeth in Me should not abide in darkness. And if any man hear My words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world. He that rejecteth Me, and receiveth not My words, hath one that judgeth him: the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day. For I have not spoken of Myself; but the Father which sent Me, He gave Me commandment, what I should say, and what I should speak. And I know that His commandment is life everlasting: whatsoever I speak, therefore, even as the Father said unto Me, even so I speak."
Clear, distinct, like drops of tinkling water fell the words, piercing as nails, leaving no doubt, no want of emphasis behind them, enhanced by all the mystery of an unseen voice; but they fell as water falls on rocks, but to splash up again and glance off. An unmoved nation passed silently along the road, unconscious of the priceless value of the light that was gradually flitting away, and of the darkness that would soon envelop them eternally with a gloomy mantle damp with the sweating of horror of a people re-awakened all too late.
